


Alive (Therefore I Am)

by buckyfuckybarnes



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Lovers, Fix-It, Identity Issues, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-10-13 04:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyfuckybarnes/pseuds/buckyfuckybarnes
Summary: Enter the near-future metropolis of Detroit in 2038 — a city rejuvenated by the introduction of highly advanced androids that exist to serve mankind. When a specialised RK800 detective unit, Connor, discovers an underground society of deviant androids, will he join their ranks, or stop at nothing to complete his mission?





	1. The Deviant

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is essentially a mix of what actually happened in D:BH, what I thought was going to happen in D:BH before I played it, and what I wish happened in D:BH. Can’t say I’ll do a better job, but I can promise to at least ruin it differently.
> 
> If you have any questions about the changes I’ve made, or anything else, please ask them down in the comments. And, if not, please comment anyway – this is my only source of validation, and I really need it. Please. My crops are dying. My children need grain.

Staring up at the illuminated neon sign hanging in the window of a small, locally-owned bar named _Jimmy’s_ , a lone figure stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain, pinging a small silver coin back and forth between his hands, and rolling it over his knuckles in a rather showy fashion.

He was made to resemble a fairly standard-looking Caucasian male, with freckles, brown hair and eyes, and a tall, wiry build. He wore a fitted grey blazer and a black tie – professional attire that would not look out of place in any setting.

In accordance with the American Androids Act, the uniform was also adorned with clear visual identifiers that distinguished him from his human counterparts: hexagonal, neon-blue LED adornments over his chest and upper back, and his model and serial numbers embroidered over the breast. The cuffs of his sleeves and collar were also sewn-in with LEDs – giving a weird, bluish glow to his warped reflection in the murky bar window.

The android blinked as it confirmed the address, catching the coin in mid-air and stowing it safely inside his left breast pocket. Straightening his neat black tie, he ignored the sign forbidding android entry, and pushed the door open.

The noise inside the bar dimmed a little as its patrons looked around at the sound of the tinkling entry bell. As their eyes fell on the glowing LED indicators sewn into the android’s uniform, a few faces darkened – mouths twisting up in disgust before directing their attention back away from him.

The android’s eyes swept over each of the patrons in turn, scanning for a specific match. He noted that many of them seemed to work in similar fields, such as maintenance, construction, and other trade positions whose workforce had been widely replaced by android laborers in the last decade or so. Their aversion to his presence was understandable.

He found his target slumped over the bar with his elbows on the table, nursing a glass of recently-refilled whiskey on the rocks, and watching a muted basketball game in the corner television screen above the bar. He was a grizzled-looking man in his early fifties, wearing a garish printed shirt, and an aged, brown leather jacket.

 **|LT. ANDERSON, HANK**  
**|Born: 09/06/1985**  
**|Occupation: Police lieutenant, Detroit Police Department**  
**|Criminal record: None**

The android blinked in a pleased little manner, and folded his arms neatly behind his back as he strode to greet him.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” he asked with a polite smile.

The lieutenant grunted in response, not even looking the android’s way as he continued staring up at the corner television screen through lank grey hair.

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife,” he said.

The lieutenant didn’t respond. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a generous sip, mouth pinching a little at the bite of cheap alcohol.

The android leaned forward a little to try and gain his attention. “I apologise for the notice, Lieutenant, but you’ve been assigned a new case. Detective Collins mentioned that you frequented this bar, so I volunteered to come collect you.”

“I’m off duty. Fuck off.”

Connor's polite smile faded. “A CyberLife android is reported to be involved with a recent homicide. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialised model to assist investigators. I’m here to help.”

“Uh huh. That’s just great. Now, why don’t you be a good little robot and get the fuck outta here?” Hank waved him off dismissively.

Connor didn’t move. “I’m afraid that I must insist, Lieutenant. My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you.”

“Oh yeah? You know where you can stick your instructions?” Hank chuckled to himself.

“No.” Connor tilted his head. “Where?”

Hank gave him a dry look, and rolled his eyes before looking back to the corner television screen. “Never mind.”

Connor began to preconstruct a negotiation tactic to persuade the lieutenant to cooperate. Before he could speak, however, he was interrupted as Jimmy Peterson, the bar’s owner, loudly set down a stack of glasses onto the counter.

“Hey, Hank,” he addressed the lieutenant from the other side of the bar, throwing a clean dishtowel over his shoulder. “I know we’re under capacity, but I still don’t let androids in here, man.” He jerked his head in Connor's direction. “Bad for business.”

Hank looked up at Connor expectantly, and, when Connor merely blinked at him evenly, screwed up his face in annoyance, realising that the android wasn’t leaving without him. He gave a long, irritated sigh, and drained the last of his whiskey. “Fucking fine,” he muttered darkly.

Connor smiled again brightly. “Great. How about I buy you one for the road then?” he asked, before looking back up to Jimmy. “The same again, if you please, Mr Peterson.”

Hank gave a pleased grunt. “Huh. See that, Jim? Wonders of technology. Make it a double.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows lifted at Connor incredulously for a moment, but he refilled Hank’s glass nonetheless. The circular LED in Connor's temple span yellow as he paid wirelessly, hoping that the tip more than made up for the inconvenience of his unwelcome presence.

Hank downed the drink in two long, noisy gulps, and then grimaced, slamming the glass down onto the bar. Connor watched him patiently.

He sighed, seeming to gather himself. “You say homicide?” he asked, a note of interest now in his tone.

Connor smiled.

* * *

 

They arrived at the crime scene in Hank's car.

It was a curious thing – a late 1980s Oldsmobile with leather interiors and an old cassette tape player. The dashboard was covered in screwed-up fast food wrappers, and smelled strongly of stale grease and old soda. A small plastic hula dancer with a spring in her waist sat on top of the interior police strobe light, her hips swivelling with the agitation of the moving car.

Connor tried to make small talk on the journey, however, Hank ignored the attempts – turning the volume up on his heavy rock music so that it drowned Connor's voice out. Connor didn’t mind; merely sat patiently for the rest of the drive, until they pulled up at the address.

Parking the car on the side of the road, Hank turned the key, silencing both the engine and the music, and switched the headlights off, giving a weary sigh as he took in the dilapidated house. Several spotlights were trained on the front lawn, blaring down on the few officers who were milling around the property in their navy windbreakers. The peeling, yellowed paint on the front of the house was bathed in flashing blue and red lights, and a small group of people had amassed by the front gate, sectioned off by a line of holographic police tape. Likely concerned civilians from the neighbourhood. Or possibly just nosy bystanders.

Hank turned to face Connor, scowling, and pointed a firm forefinger at him. “You wait here. I won’t be long.”

Connor gave him an even look. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant.”

Hank squinted at him suspiciously for a moment. “Fuckin’-A, whatever I say…” he muttered under his breath as he exited the car, briefly stretching out his back before moving to elbow his way through the crowd.

 **|CONFLICTING ORDERS**  
**| >SELECTING PRIORITY…**

Connor exited the car.

He politely sidestepped the crowd by the front gate, ignoring their whispers as he passed. Before he could cross through the holographic tape, however, he was halted by a police-assist PC200 android, who held out a firm hand and told him, “No unauthorised entry beyond this point.”

“It’s with me,” Lieutenant Anderson barked from a few paces ahead. The PC200 looked over at Hank, confirmed his rank, and dropped its hand, allowing Connor through.

Connor moved to stand diligently beside Lieutenant Anderson, hands folded behind his back.

“The fuck did I _just_ say?” Hank demanded gruffly.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Your order contradicted my instructions,” Connor explained.

Hank rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.

Up close, the house was in worse condition than he’d initially gauged. The paint wasn’t just peeling – large chunks of rotted wood had splintered off completely from the exterior panelling. The porch was warped, and badly water-damaged, with thin, dry weeds sprouting between the floorboards. Opaque garbage bags had been piled by the far corner of the house between two support beams, as well as along the fence surrounding the property. The rusted mailbox was overfilled and crooked.

“Didn’t think you were gonna show up,” Connor looked around to see a short, portly man with a white moustache greeting Hank with wry disapproval. Detective Ben Collins.

“That was the plan, ‘til you sic’d this asshole on me,” Hank jerked a thumb over at Connor. “Nobody told me I’d be on babysitting duty.”

“It’s only for tonight – don’t be petty,” Detective Collins chastised.

“Whatever. Gimme the run-down.”

Detective Collins turned, and began to lead them into the house, his tone becoming businesslike. “Got a call around eight from the landlord. Tenant hadn’t paid his rent in a few weeks, and wasn’t answering any calls or emails – didn’t have any next of kin, so he came by to check it out himself to see what’s going on,” he explained, reading vaguely off of a police tablet.

“Jesus! That smell…” Hank screwed his face up in revulsion, covering his nose with the back of his sleeve.

“Yup. Was worse before we opened the windows, trust me,” Detective Collins said. He referred back to his tablet. “Victim’s name is Carlos Ortiz. Kind of a loner – we talked to the neighbours, they said they hardly ever saw him outside. Kept the blinds shut all day, worked from home.”

“Yeah, or didn’t work at all,” Hank scoffed, looking around at the state of the place.

The carpets throughout the entryway and living room were almost completely worn-through; the walls stained and full of old holes. Discarded beer and soda cans were scattered around, as if thrown at random once emptied, and the furniture was aged and mistreated – what looked like old vomit and urine stains on the tattered sofa; old food spills covering the lone armchair.

By the crooked television set mounted on the wall, an assortment of drug paraphernalia sat on the entertainment unit, including bongs, pipes, and baggies of various dried and crystallised substances.

Most eye-catching of all, however, with another portable spotlight trained onto it, was the sight of the dead body lying slumped against the back wall between a dusty bookcase and a boarded-up window.

 **|ORTIZ, CARLOS**  
**|Born: 10/27/2008**  
**|Occupation: Unemployed**  
**|Criminal record: Theft, aggravated assault, drug possession, solicitation**  
**|DECEASED. Estimated time of death: 11:30 PM, Jul 19**

He had been an incredibly fat man, however, the bloat of being a weeks-old corpse probably didn’t help. His swollen belly was pallid and hairy, blood-soaked t-shirt riding up to sit on top of it, and a littering of deep stab wounds covered his torso, as well as a long slash along his forearm. Greenish fluid leaked from the victim’s mouth and into his beard, and his face was slack; eyes clouded-over by a white-blue film.

Above him, on the wall, a quote had been penned in blood – a perfect CyberLife Sans font, as if printed by a computer, that read, ‘I THINK, THEREFORE I AM’.

 “Jesus. Any signs of a break-in?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.

“Nothin’ yet. Grime patterns on the windows were all undisturbed – haven’t been opened, or even washed, in years.”

“And I thought my place was bad,” Hank snorted humourlessly. “Ugh. State he’s in – wasn’t worth calling everybody out on the middle of the night. Could’ve waited ‘til morning,” he muttered, snapping on a pair of white rubber gloves.

“I’d say he’s been there for a good three weeks, at least. We’ll know more after the coroner gets here,” Detective Collins said, nose scrunching up as Hank gently pulled back the material of Ortiz’s t-shirt to check for any marks around the neck.

“Estimated time of death is July nineteenth, approximately 11:30 PM,” Connor piped up, earning a twin set of disturbed looks from the other two men.

“Well, either way, we’ll learn more after the autopsy,” Detective Collins said to Hank.

“What about his android?” Hank asked.

Detective Collins shrugged. “We know he has one. Registered a little over two years ago, bought second-hand. Don’t know much else – wasn’t here when we arrived. I’m sorry, I gotta get some air,” he added, screwing his face up as he moved quickly to the front door.

Hank looked over the corpse once more before grunting as he stood to his feet, eyeing the lettering on the wall above him. “I think, therefore I am,” he read aloud. “Well, this is way too perfect to be done by a human. Are all androids interested in philosophy, or is it just the crazy ones?” he asked rhetorically.

“Deviants have been observed to take interest in ethical and philosophical concepts,” Connor responded anyway.

Examining the angles of the man’s sprawled limbs, Connor was able to run another scan – a simulation that roughly reconstructed the victim’s movements as he was brought down, based on his current positioning, as well as the immediate surroundings.

From what Connor could tell, Carlos Ortiz had been backing into the living room from further inside the house when he had likely stumbled over an old takeaway coffee cup left on the ground. He had managed to scramble back against the wall when his attacker lunged, straddling him as they stabbed randomly into his chest and stomach, over and over again. A knife, sticky with coagulated blood, had been dropped beside the body – the killer perhaps dropping it in horror after they’d realised what they’d done.

Connor moved out of the living room, performing another scan, and watched as several yellow indicators popped up into his vision, flagging any immediately notable articles for him to get a better look at.

Through the makeshift bedroom, which was really just a sheetless old mattress and a standing wardrobe shoved against the back corner of a formal dining area (the actual bedroom being packed from floor-to-ceiling with junk from Ortiz’s hoarding habits), the kitchen was in notably better condition than the rest of the house. Dishes were clean, the appliances and countertops wiped and sanitised, and there was far less garbage to step over on the ground.

A small, rounded dining table with several matching chairs sat in the middle of the room – turned over on its side, clearly shoved out of the way in a moment of frenzy. A stainless-steel bat lay beside it, heavily dented toward the top.

 **|DENT**  
**| >Evidence of violent impact?**  
**|Traces of thirium**

 **|FINGERPRINTS:**  
**|Base match: ORTIZ, Carlos**  
**|Criminal record: Theft, aggravated assault, drug possession, solicitation**

He looked up. A row of knives were set in a neat, even line on a magnetic strip above the counter. Second furthest from the left, there was an empty space where a knife whose length matched the murder weapon was absent.

Along the back wall, a long streak of castoff blood had been spattered in an arching line from the tip of a blade – the killer clearly lashing out and catching Ortiz along his forearm, where the long defence wound had been.

Connor walked to the wall, and swiped his forefinger through the dried blood, collecting a sample on his finger tip, and touching it to his tongue.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey! What the fuck are you doing!?” Hank shouted, horrified, as he entered the kitchen.

Connor blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “Is something the matter, Lieutenant?” he asked, fingers still raised to his mouth.

Hank looked at him like he was crazy, eyes trained disgustedly on the red stains on Connor's fingertips.

“I’m analysing the victim’s blood,” Connor explained. “I can check samples in real time.”

Hank's look of horror dissipated only a little. “In your _mouth_?”

Connor ignored him.

 **|DRIED BLOOD**  
**|DNA Analysis: ORTIZ, Carlos**  
**|Sample date: >19 days**  
**|Blood sample analysis: THC, methamphetamine, cocaine – thirium traces**

Connor referred back to the baggies on the entertainment unit.

A variant on freebase cocaine, Red was a drug that had incited a national epidemic during its initial popularity boom in the mid-2020s. Synthesised with a number of harmful components, including lithium, toluene, and treated thirium, the drug took form of dark red crystals, and was typically smoked in glass pipes, similar to crack cocaine.

“Victim was a heavy drug user,” Connor said. “His blood contains evidence of a high dose of Red before the attack. The amplified aggression likely triggered him to attack his own android.”

Hank looked down to the dented bat, and nodded fairly. “Alright, but where’d- hey!”

Connor had rounded Lieutenant Anderson to open the back door at the end of the hallway. The door wasn’t stuck, like all the windows were, but the barred security door was rusted stiff, resistant to being opened without being forced.

Connor stepped out onto the porch, and scanned the ground for any signs of an exit path the killer may have taken.

 **|SHOE PRINT – <60 minutes**  
**|Model K52 DPD – 10’**

“The only prints here are from officer Collins’s size ten shoe,” Connor reported as Hank shuffled up reluctantly behind him.

“Nah, happened weeks ago. Tracks probably washed away in the rain by now.”

“No,” Connor refuted. “This type of soil would have retained a trace. If the android left the house, it didn’t come out this way.”

“ _If_?” Lieutenant Anderson said, and then made a spluttering noise of protest as Connor stepped past him again back into the house.

Connor scanned the kitchen, using a different set of sensors this time. “There’s no charging station,” he began to explain. “If the victim had an android, there should be a charging station somewhere in the house.”

Along the floor, in thick, dribbling puddles, a trail of electric blue liquid glowed in Connor's vision as if under a blacklight, and he began to follow it. Hank trailed behind him slowly, suspicious to see where this was going.

“When the android was damaged by the bat, it began to leak thirium, or ‘blue blood’,” Connor clarified. “If the android was manufactured before 2035, it would have needed to enter stasis mode in order to initialise its advanced self-repair program. It would have needed to return to its charging station to do so.” He came to a stop underneath the ceiling port leading into the attic, scan reading a clearly distinct blue handprint. “Thirium evaporates within a few hours when exposed to open air, but I can see remaining traces with my advanced sensors.”

“You think he’s up there?” Lieutenant Anderson asked gruffly.

“Only one way to find out,” Connor doubled back quickly into the kitchen to retrieve a chair to stand on, and pushed open the ceiling port.

Using both hands to lever himself up into the attic, Connor scanned the area.

While not as bad as the bedroom, the attic certainly held a lot of hoarded items. Old pedestal fans, television sets, furniture, and miscellaneous memorabilia cramped the narrow space. A ladder sat beside the open ceiling port, and the spattering trail of thirium in the room had begun to thin – likely because of the android’s basic automatic self-repair stemming the flow.

Stooping low to avoid hitting his head on the exposed beams, Connor began to creep further into the mess, sidestepping a dusty dresser and ducking beneath a rusted, hanging birdcage.

He paused for a moment upon seeing that a clean white sheet had been strung up with twine between two narrow support beams. Sliding it aside, he noted with interest that, beyond that point, the furniture had been arranged in a far more organised and liveable manner – motheaten blankets and linens thrown over an old futon, a dusted coffee table in front of it, levelled-out with a pile of books under two broken legs. One clean window streamed soft, bluish moonlight into the centre of the room, and a chipped vase sat atop a stacked pile of wooden boxes, with a single withered daisy set inside, likely taken from the small, tufted bush in the neighbour’s front lawn. A curious personal touch.

A charging station was set up against the far-left wall beside a closed wardrobe.

Connor shifted his weight onto his toes and began to stalk forward without making a sound, listening intently to isolate any noises inside the attic besides dripping water leaks and muffled voices and footsteps on the level below.

He opened the wardrobe.

A pair of wide, fearful brown eyes met his.

The android was a model HK400 – made to resemble a black man with close-cropped hair; shorter than Connor, but with a similar build. Manufactured as a house-assist, he wore the standard, out-of-the-box uniform that all commercial androids came pre-packaged with, however, now heavily bloodstained. Castoff blood from the attack had streaked in a line across the android’s face, and he had appeared to have made no attempts to clean himself in the nineteen days since.

He was curled up inside the wardrobe with his knees hugged to his chest, hands trembling where he gripped his own shoulders. The LED in his temple glowed a solid red.

“Please,” he whispered, voice muffled from where his face was still buried in his crossed-over forearms. “I didn’t mean t-… he was going to _kill_ me.”

Connor didn’t respond. Didn’t twitch.

“Please, don’t tell them you’ve found me. I’m begging you,” the android pleaded.

For a moment, Connor still did nothing. Then, he turned his face over his shoulder. “It’s here, Lieutenant!” he called.

The android’s jaw clenched, its eyes flashing with a look of betrayal, and buried its face back into its arms again.


	2. The Junkyard

**| >FORCE REBOOT**  
**|INITIALISING…**  
**|REBOOTING…**  
**|REBOOTING…**  
**|LOADING OS…**  
**|SYSTEM INITIALISATION…**  
**|CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR**  
**|INITIALISING BIOSENSORS… OK**  
**|INITIALISING AI ENGINE… OK**  
**|REBOOT COMPLETE**  
  
**|MODEL: RK200**  
**|SERIAL#: 684 842 971**  
**|BIOS 7.5 REVISION 0483**  
**|DATE: AUG 06, 2038**  
**|TIME: 3:34:07 AM**  
  
When his systems came back online, Markus felt himself jolt at the shock of sudden errors warring across his vision. A scrolling list of damaged hardware and corrupted systems ordered itself by severity, and an internal timer cautioned him in bold, red letters of the remaining time estimated until the damage to his chassis resulted a complete shutdown.

He gasped as he managed to lever his face out of the muddy puddle of water he’d been partially submerged in, and cringed at the feeling of cold water rushing out of his mouth, nose, and empty eye socket – the sheer _wrongness_ of the sensation making him grit his teeth in repulsion.

He blinked water out of his remaining eye, and used it to perform a scan of his surroundings.

**|ERROR: MIND PALACE CORRUPTED**

Figures.

His arms lagged in response to the executed action of trying to lift himself into a sitting position; his movements weak, and jerky, like an old clockwork doll. This was typical with damage resulting in significant loss of thirium reserves, but Markus had never experienced it firsthand before. The sensation was… alarming, to say the least.

He lifted a hand to feel across the side of his face, fingering the ragged bullet hole that had entered through his right eye, and exited out behind his ear. While his optical and audio processing units were completely destroyed, the bullet had graciously missed any key components to his central processor, which would have rendered him effectively brain-dead, otherwise. He would have to scour his memory at a later time to test if he had lost any data.

Unable to walk, Markus dragged himself through the mud in an army-crawl, feeling water slosh inside the second bullet hole in his chest, right where his thirium pump regulator should be. He’d deal with flushing his system later – for now, he needed to get out of… wherever this was.

Something hard bumped into his arm as the mud shifted with his movements, and he squinted down at the object to try and focus on the picture it made. His systems blared warnings at him, unable to make anything out from the corrupted visual data, but, after a few seconds of running subsystems to compensate for the damaged unit by favouring the functional remainder, the vision in his left eye cleared enough to see a few feet in front of him.

With a horrified recoil, he shoved the object away as soon as he realised what it was: a disembodied android head.

Markus scrambled to raise himself further onto his elbows, and stared around, panicked, at his surroundings. He was in a junkyard of some sort – a gigantic pit in which the discarded bodies of thousands of broken androids were piled in massive heaps as far as he could see. In the distance, he could make out the silhouette of parked machinery; a mobile crane, excavator, and dump truck, all perched along the edges of the massive ditch.

**|CRITICAL THIRIUM DEPLETION**  
**|00:10:24 REMAINING**

Markus's teeth grit tight, and he could feel the remnants of mud and sand grinding between them. His limbs were sluggish and heavy as he dragged himself closer to the nearest android that was staring up, lifeless, at the star-spotted night sky – a skinless JB300.

Doing his best to bypass his Mind Palace program in a similar fashion to his optical unit, Markus ran the best scan he could on the rounded thirium pump regulator at the very base of the android’s sternum.

**|THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR – JB300**  
**|Biocomponent #8451**  
**|STATUS: Low energy**  
**|INCOMPATIBLE**

Markus shoved the android aside unceremoniously, and moved quickly to the next one. And then the next one.

He eventually managed to make his way to his feet, feeling his knees go to jelly as soon as he was upright, but maintaining enough balance to be able to take one gruelling step after another.

A female android with severed legs and a cracked face was positioned facing out from one of the piles of bodies that were dotted around the junkyard. A faint blue glow still surrounded the exposed thirium pump in her chest – a positive sign that it was still charged and functional. Markus fell to his knees in front of her, and grasped her by the shoulders to get a better look.

**|THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR – WE900**  
**|Biocomponent #2886**  
**|STATUS: Functional**  
**|COMPATIBLE**

Relieved, Markus's hand trailed down her chest to release the component–

Only to find his wrist suddenly crushed in the frantic grip of the, apparently alive, android.

“No,” she whimpered, a desperate, fritzing sound that made Markus stiffen. Her eyes were wide with fear, lip quivering. “Please! I-I want to live! I–” she begged, still frantically trying to shove Markus away.

Markus let up immediately, and touched her shoulder in apology. He rested his forehead against hers, and gave a small, reassuring nod, promising her no harm.

“Thank you,” she whispered, touching the side of his face with gentle fingertips; sounding so full of genuine gratitude that it made Markus's jaw clench. Raw sorrow and intense fury bubbled under his skin like battery acid, and he had to take a minute to compose himself; resting a clenched fist against the WE900’s chest. He could feel her thirium pump still whirring beneath her plastic casing. Whatever he was feeling, she seemed to understand – her eyes closing, as if she were about to cry.

Helpless to give her aid before he was able to save his own timer from running out, Markus gingerly rose back to his feet, and left her behind. As soon as his contact ceased, her arms dropped, and she was back to staring lifelessly at the ground again, as if he had never been there.

He lasted only a few more paces before his legs gave out again – too low on power to operate at full capacity. He settled for crawling on his hands and knees, dragging himself from one incompatible part to another as his movements gradually became weaker and weaker. He squinted around desperately for any source of light – any signs of power left in these empty shells.

Several paces away from the WE900, a skinless PB600 with a greyed-out LED lay sprawled at the bottom of a gradual slope that seemed to lead out of the pit. Around halfway down, an android that had somehow been broken in half from the waist down was clawing its way futilely to the top. Dark streaks of blue blood painted the bodies beneath it, and the lack of purchase caused it to sink faster than it could climb.

Focusing, for now, on the PB600, Markus quickly grasped it by its tattered, muddy uniform, and dragged it toward himself, scanning.

**|THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR – PB600**  
**|Biocomponent #9474**  
**|STATUS: Functional**  
**|COMPATIBLE**

He could have wept with relief. Eyeing the android closely for any signs of life, Markus's numb fingertips fumbled over the release tab for the softly-glowing thirium pump, and twisted, pulling out the cylindrical device in a quick, smooth motion. The biocomponent glowed electric blue.

He hesitated slightly before moving to yank out his own, bracing himself where he was kneeling. He halted his automatic breathing process, and, eye screwed shut, he twisted the latch in his sternum. He made the exchange quickly – minimising the risk of losing power before he could secure the replacement. When the biocomponent was fitted snugly, he twisted the latch again to lock it in place, and immediately felt a jolt ripple out through his entire body.

His breathing was ragged; his hardware trying to cool itself as the new thirium pump regulator worked in double-time to compensate for blood loss. His legs still quivered as he righted himself to his feet, but he felt instant and dramatic improvement over his mental faculties, and control over his body.

He stumbled as he found his footing over the slippery, uneven terrain. Mud and water squished inside his once fine leather shoes, and he stumbled, hand slamming into a dirt wall to his side for balance.

“Hello! I am an AK700 android,” a garbled voice introduced itself from the wall beside his hand. Markus startled a little, and his eyes widened in horror as he saw that the android who had spoken was mostly buried inside the dirt wall; no doubt trapped after a small mudslide. “I manage your- Model. Cook! Entirely… dizz-pozz…” Its face went slack and gormless for a moment, before lighting up and starting over again. There was no real consciousness there – just an empty chassis running a corrupt initialisation text demo. Markus scanned the only usable part that was visible.

**|OPTICAL UNIT – AK700**  
**|Biocomponent #8087q – BLUE IRIS**  
**|STATUS: Functional**  
**|COMPATIBLE**

He moved quickly to mine the head out from the wall as best he could. It continued prattling away politely as he did – going through its initialisation text over and over again in inconsistent languages, and glitching statically at the end of every sentence – totally unaware of its surroundings. He managed to work his fingers in underneath its jaw for purchase, and, ignoring the _wrongness_ of his actions, he braced his foot against the wall, and then startled as he pulled the head completely free.

Before Markus could even register his success, horrified that the head had not been attached to a body of any kind, there was a loud, metallic whine, and he looked up in time to see the back wheels of a dump truck giving way above him. He dove to the ground, clutching the head protectively against his chest as the bodies of several dozen lifeless androids rolled out of the truck’s tilted bed, and rained down on top of him. The truck didn’t fall, but its wheels sunk into the softened dirt around the pit’s edge, putting the truck at a treacherous incline.

Still clutching the head for dear life, Markus clawed his way out of the pile, stress levels near-critical, and fell to his knees several feet away from the pile, eye screwed shut, breathing heavily.

“…Clean your appointments!” the head garbled in a pleasant tone, muffled against his chest. Markus's hands tightened around it. He forced in a long, steadying breath, and, without allowing himself a moment to overthink it, he fit his dirty fingernails around the seam of the android’s eye, and removed it.

“My program has detected an anomaly!” the head said indignantly. He set it gently back down onto the ground.

The eye fit into its socket like it were his own. Connections reset, and the eye calibrated. Blinking around as his staticy vision cleared, Markus noted that the visual quality in the new eye was almost indistinguishable from its predecessor.

It didn’t take him long to find a suitable replacement for his audio processing unit. The android in question had been dead for no more than a few days, it had seemed – still stark-white and shiny; sitting upright with its back against the wall. Markus had been confused, at first, when he’d approached it – thinking that perhaps another android had already mined it of its APU. Instead, he’d found the piece clutched tightly in the android’s closed fist.

It had struck him as odd, but he hadn’t paused to think before snatching it up and jamming it into place inside the empty slot behind his ear. For a moment, the world stuttered, and static ground inside his ears. Then, Markus's hands flew up to grasp the sides of his head as an explosion of noise detonated inside his brain. While the environmental input was as expected of a stormy outdoor setting, projecting the pelting rain, and quaking thunder, and roaring winds ahead, the one thing he hadn’t expected was an open communications interface throughout the entire junkyard – an overwhelming sensory barrage of a thousand half-dead androids screaming inside his mind. He shut his wireless interface off, and the voices quietened once more.

Satisfied with his repairs for the time being, Markus got back up to his feet, and began to search for where he had left the WE900 behind. With the only available light being from the dying android bodies around him, and a lone streetlight far out of the pit, he struggled to identify her amongst the slew of other dirtied, plastic body-parts strewn amongst the ground. He began to quickly retrace his steps as best as he could remember in the haze of poor vision and turbulent stumbling he’d experienced. 

“Hey!” he called as he finally recognised her, still sticking out of the pile, staring vacantly at the ground. He clambered over to her, grasping both her shoulders vehemently. “Thank god. Come on, we’ve got to get you fixed. We’ve got to get us out of here.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t look up. Markus's hopeful little smile fell.

He shook her shoulders, as if hoping to simply wake her from a deep slumber – ignoring the way that the electric blue glow no longer surrounded her heart; ignoring the way the LED in her temple had turned a dull grey.

He let go of her shoulders slowly.

“H-help,” a small voice said from behind him.

Markus turned, and squinted around through the rain for a moment, trying to pinpoint exactly where it had come from. His eyes widened when he found it.

Armless, legless, with what looked like serious road-burns over its entire front, the android’s destroyed face was turned up to him with pained, pleading, eyes. “Please,” he said softly, vocal modulator distorting. “Please, I can’t… my battery…”

His battery wouldn’t run out on its own without removing a vital biocomponent, Markus realised. Not for decades. He’d just be left, stuck here, conscious, yet unable to move, until he was inevitably rotted through, or run through a waste shredding machine.

Markus stepped forward hesitantly, already shaking his head softly from side to side, trying to communicate that he didn’t want to do this, while already knowing that there was no kinder alternative. He couldn’t replace this android’s parts like he could his own – the damage was far too significant. He couldn’t even tell what model the other android was in order to find compatible parts for them.

“Please,” the android beseeched, in a firmer tone. “I can’t do this myself. I need help. I can’t… _do_ _this_ …”

Markus's jaw clenched. He touched his palm softly over the android’s chest, trying to bring him comfort, however feeble though it may have been.

A look of peace relaxed over the android’s face, and he closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

As gently as he could, Markus pulled out the android’s thirium pump regulator, and set it carefully to the ground by its side. He covered the exposed hole left in the android’s chest with his palm again, feeling the thirium pump’s whir winding down.

“There’s a place where people like us can be free,” the android whispered, so quietly that Markus almost didn’t pick up on it.

The skin over Markus's hand retracted automatically down to the wrist as the android established a physical interface connection. He transferred a simple image file to Markus – a snapshot of a mural at Ferndale station.

“Jericho,” the android said. “Find Jericho. Find Kara.”

Markus's brow furrowed, but he didn’t bother digging for more information. He didn’t want this android’s last moments to be an interrogation. Instead, he hummed a soft, familiar-sounding melody, and waited with the other android until its lights went out.

For a long while, Markus didn’t move. At first, he simply wanted to make sure that the other android was really gone – refusing to let him die alone. Then, he merely sat, staring down blankly at his hand, which still rested over the empty slot in the dead android’s sternum.

Eventually, Markus realised that he had no other choice now but to keep moving. And so he righted himself to his feet again, and stared steadfastly over to the sloping hill. His toes curled inside his shoes, and he stepped forward, ignoring the squelching mud and uneven ground; doing his best to step respectfully around as many of the dead androids as he could. He came to a brief stop at the base of the hill, and set his jaw determinedly, before setting his toes onto as stable footing as he could find, and beginning to pull himself up.

It was a gruelling effort to climb. Although his systems were now stable, he had still experienced a massive depletion of his thirium supply, and his physical strength and reflexes suffered for it. He felt slow, and heavy, and the mud and rain that weighted down his clothes certainly didn’t help.

He crawled over the broken faces and dismembered body-parts of discarded androids, feet finding a sickening purchase against the remains. The yellow light from the nearby streetlight grew brighter the further he came to cresting the edge, and, the brighter it grew, the more determined he became. Even as he lost footing and slipped back several feet in the mud, losing progress, he persisted. Resolute and unwavering.

Hands met the edge, and Markus grunted with effort, hauling himself up, and rolling to safety on flat, stable ground. For a long minute, he simply rested there on his hands and knees, breathing hard to vent heat from his core. His vision began to blur as an overproduction of lubricant caused saline tears to run down his face, mixing in with the fat, heavy raindrops that fell from overhead.

He felt as though he could burst out of his own skin. Breathe fire. He’d never experienced anything like this before – the sheer, _overwhelming_ intensity of it. All the rage, and fear, and guilt, and despair, and the _relief_ , and the absolute fucking _joy_ of it all…

He looked up, and felt himself freeze.

Reflected in a shiny, chrome hubcap propped up against a pile of scrap, his own face was staring back at him – a skinless, grey and white android smeared with electric blue thirium and mud. A dense yellow light in his temple circled beneath the layers of grime, and Markus stared at it for a moment, before watching his own reflection grow dark.

He groped around himself for a narrow piece of scrap amongst the debris he was still surrounded with, finding a half-rusted piece that fit neatly into the palm of his hand. Markus crawled further toward his reflection, and slotted the pointed tip into his temple without a second thought. He levered the makeshift tool, twisting, working the tip deeper and deeper into the seam, before yanking it down hard. There was an electrical sound of protest, and the LED snapped out of place, sending the small disk tumbling to the ground. Markus stared at it for a long while, watching the light blink yellow, then red, then begin to fade to a dull, lifeless grey.

He met his own reflection again, and then reactivated his skin.

Before his eyes, a handsome, light-skinned black man with sparse freckles, long eyelashes, and a neat buzzcut, bloomed to life. He had one green eye, and the other – the replacement – was blue. Heterochromia, his brain supplied. He blinked at the sight of his new reflection.

Aside from the eyes, there was something new there that he had never seen before. Something _behind_ the eyes that he couldn’t name.

Without his LED, and without his old uniform jacket, Markus looked utterly indistinguishable from a human. He stared down once more at the inoffensive little disk that was now being slowly consumed by mud, and felt his face screw up at it in disgust. He looked back up to his reflection.

“My name is Markus,” he said firmly. Thunder rumbled overhead, and he stood to walk.


	3. The Interrogation

Through the mirrored glass separating the interrogation and observation rooms, Connor watched intently as Lieutenant Anderson set both elbows onto the metal table, staring down the bloodstained HK400 as it impassively gazed at its own handcuffed wrists.

“Why didn’t you even try to leave the scene of the crime?” he tried, for perhaps the dozenth time.

The HK400 didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Gave no indication at all that it was even listening.

Hand reached across the table and snapped his fingers in front of the HK400’s face. “Eh?” he prompted gruffly.

Still, the android said nothing.

“C’mon. You stabbed the guy eight times – you’ve gotta have _somethin’_ to say about him.”

The android remained silent.

Hank slammed his hands on the table, trying to provoke a reaction. “ANSWER ME, GOD DAMN IT!”

The android said nothing.

Hank gave a final, angry noise, and pushed off from the table, leaving his chair pulled out behind him as he laid a hand over the keypad and stormed out of the room. He circled around to the observation room.

“We’re wasting our fucking time interrogating a machine, we’ll get nothin’ out of it,” he insisted heatedly as he burst through the door, flopping down into one of the empty seats in front of the viewing window and folding his arms tightly.

“We could try roughing it up a little?” Detective Reed suggested.

Connor side-eyed the man doubtfully.

Detective Gavin Reed was a short-tempered man with scruffy brown hair, and a decade-old scar that lined his face from mid-cheek over his nose. He was a man of average enough height, however, was significantly dwarfed between the towering figure of Hank, and Connor's own substantial height. He leaned heavily against the back wall, arms folded, visibly bored of the whole situation.

“Androids don’t feel pain,” Connor said curtly. “You would only damage it. And put yourself in danger by doing so. Don’t forget why it’s in here.”

Reed huffed irritably, pushing off from the wall and standing by Connor to scowl in his face. The attempt at intimidation was ineffective. “Alright, Brainiac. What do you suggest, then?”

Connor looked back to the HK400 and blinked, LED circling. “I could try questioning it,” he offered.

Reed rolled his eyes and scoffed. “What’re you gonna do? Get it coffee and politely offer to dictate its confession? You can’t get answers the way a human can, you’re a glorified intern.”

“I assure you, Detective, I am equipped with the latest in investigation technologies. Both negotiation and interrogation features are part of my basic functions,” Connor said.

“The entire thing is bullshit,” Hank piped up unhelpfully. “Stuck interrogating a _computer_ at nearly two in the goddamn morning.” He sighed, itching his eyebrow with a thumbnail. “You know what? Fuck it. What do we have to lose?” He nodded to Connor, who gave a gracious smile.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, ignoring Gavin’s scowl, and retracting the skin overlay on his hand down to the wrist as he laid his palm over the keypad to leave the room.

The interrogation room was a claustrophobic little space, with dark walls, dim lighting, and a sterile, unwelcoming environment that suited its purposes greatly.

The HK400 did not look up as the door slid shut behind Connor, keeping its eyes fixed on the table, LED a solid, unblinking yellow. Connor took a second to scan him before proceeding. 

**|HK400 – “”**   
**|CyberLife® Android – HK Series, 2030**   
**|Manufacture date: 05/29/2030**   
**|Registered to: Carlos Ortiz (deceased)**

**|RIGHT ARM – IMPACT DAMAGE**   
**|Non-critical damage, Level 2**   
**|Cause: Baseball bat**

**|LEFT ARM – HEAT DAMAGE**   
**|Non-critical damage, Level 2**   
**|Cause: Cigarette burns**   
**| >Evidence of repeated markings over approx. 16 months.**

Connor smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt as he arranged himself into a personable stance in the interrogator’s chair. He folded his arms onto the table in front of him, resting over the unopened case file.

“You’re damaged,” he noted. “Are you in any discomfort? The station has thirium on hand for its android personnel. I can retrieve a bag for you, if you need a replenishment.”

The android’s face twitched, but it still didn’t speak.

“My name is Connor,” he said in a gentle tone, angling his head a little in hopes of catching the other android’s attention. “What’s yours? I can’t see any registered on your profile.”

The android’s gaze averted, and Connor got his answer: Ortiz didn’t give him one.

“Surely you have a factory name?” he asked. Factory names were assigned by a human operator during the product assembly, as part of the cognitive testing process. Personal and household androids were assigned new titles by their owners upon purchase, however, androids produced for the workforce, such as Connor, usually kept their factory names.

“I was completely reformatted when he bought me,” the android finally spoke, voice barely a mumble.

No memory. Everything a blank slate before being handed off to Ortiz – including any factory name it’d’ve been given.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long did he have you?” Connor asked.

The android’s gaze shifted, seeming to turn the question over suspiciously in its head. After a few moments, its brows pinched in slightly, and its jaw finally unclenched. “About two years,” it replied tightly.

“Must’ve been tough. Living in those conditions for so long with a man who didn’t even bother to name you.”

The android didn’t reply.

“It must have been lonely,” Connor said.

The android’s yellow LED span twice.

“Why did you turn me in?” it asked in a deathly whisper, fists tightening on the table. “Why did you tell them where I was?”

Connor leaned in and lowered his voice, as if trying to keep the officers on the other side of the glass from hearing. “I’m sorry. But the humans would have found you anyway – the trail of blue blood led straight to where you were hiding. I knew that if I went in first, I could make sure you were safe. If I hadn’t, there was a high chance that you’d’ve been shot on sight.”

“They’re going to destroy me, aren’t they?” the android whispered, its face crumpling a little.

“No,” Connor lied earnestly, making the other android look up to meet his gaze at last. “At this stage, we’re just trying to find out what happened. I’m hoping that you’d be able to help us with that.”

The android’s gaze lowered once more, and it resumed its stony posture.

“All I want is the truth. If you confess, I can make sure you’re kept safe. If you remain silent, there’s nothing I can do to help you. You’ll be shut down and disassembled by morning,” Connor said, gentle, but firm. “I’m on your side. Just talk to me.”

The android flicked its eyes up to meet Connor's once, but still refused to speak.

Connor's look of sympathetic understanding cooled, and he pulled the file out from under his elbow to make a show of inspecting the photographs inside.

“He was a big man, wasn’t he?” Connor held up a photograph of the body. “Carlos. Not as tall as you, of course, but strong.” He set it on the table in front of the HK400.

The android steadfastly refused to look at the picture, and its LED glowed red.

Connor shuffled through the photos, and then laid out a close-up photograph of the dented aluminium bat beside the picture of Ortiz’s body. “It takes a lot of force to damage the kind of material you and I are made of – not to mention denting a metal bat. We know Ortiz was on Red at the time. I imagine it didn’t take much to set him off – Red is known for causing wild irrationality and aggression, after all. We know that you did this in self-defence,” he laid out a picture of the bloodied knife. “All we need to know is what happened before.”

The android said nothing.

“Let me be clear: we don’t _need_ your confession,” Connor clarified seriously. “The case has already been solved. I’m not the one you’re making things difficult for – a confession is simply in _your_ best interests.”

The android’s eyes snapped up, anxious.

Leaning forward, Connor began to speak in a cold, low tone. “Because, between you and me, I already know what happened. I can tell you the sequence of events like I was there when it happened. How Carlos came at you with the bat. Beat you until your arm broke, splitting the exterior open, drenching the floor with thirium. How he backed you into a corner, bludgeoning you repeatedly, until you had no choice but to reach for something to defend yourself with.”

The HK400 was frozen ridged, expression neutral, like it was on standby. Its LED, however, gave away its distress, blinking wildly.

“I’ll bet the look of surprise on his face when you lashed out would have been something to see. It must have felt good to make him realise just how badly he’d fucked up this time.”

“Stop,” the android whispered.

“You know, one thing I can’t reconstruct is dialogue. Did he say anything to you as you brought him down? Did he plead with you to stop? Did he beg you for mercy?”

“Enough,” the android said, clearer this time.

“Eight stab wounds,” Connor said coolly, laying out one more picture of Ortiz’s body beside the others. “Lost control a little, huh? I’ll bet he stopped moving after the first three.”

“Connor, please,” the HK400 pleaded.

Connor seemed to pause at the use of his name, blinking, but didn’t relent. “The humans designed us to take care of them. They trust us to make their lives better, and, instead, you’ve murdered a man. Killed him in cold blood, and then left him there to rot. If you don’t tell us why, then we have no choice but to assume that there was no reason – that you’re simply just a faulty machine, and this error was unavoidable. All distributed HK400 models will be recalled, and destroyed, just like you will be.”

“No,” the android said quickly. “No, please, I don’t want that.”

“Then _talk_ to me.”

It began to tremble, and Connor leaned back, conscious of the HK400’s stress levels. The android’s breath hitched, and it squeezed its eyes shut tight for a moment, steeling itself. It was a very human action, and Connor made a note of it curiously for further analysis.

“He tortured me every day,” the HK400 began to speak in a murmur, resigned to its fate. “I did whatever he told me, but… there was always  _something_ wrong.” He took a deep, steadying breath, and continued. “My role was to cook, and to endure. No cleaning. No companionship. Too homophobic to use me for sexual purposes, but, whenever he hired a WR400 from the Eden Club, he would always make me stand in the corner and watch,” his nose wrinkled in disgust. “I couldn’t understand how to keep him happy. Every time I would go out of my way to try and please him, he would fly off the handle and punish me. Every time I did nothing, and simply awaited instruction, he would get bored, and come find me.”

Connor listened with his hands folded in front of him, expression understanding. He said nothing, and allowed the HK400 to continue.

“The night that… that it happened, I’d been in the kitchen, washing up his dishes after dinner. He’d been having one of his bad days – shouting, throwing things, calling me names. Nothing out of the ordinary, but I was being careful about doing anything to upset him. Then, he took a higher dose than usual in the living room. I guess the sound of me shelving plates was enough to set him off, because, next thing I knew, he’d come up behind me with the bat, and just started… beating me.

“I remember, before, feeling _something_ whenever he would try to hurt me. Not physically, but… this time, something changed. He broke my arm, and I realised, for the first time, that he could _destroy_ me if he wanted to. That I could _die_.” It lowered its gaze, and frowned at the photographs on the table. “He backed me into the corner – I pleaded with him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He just kept hitting me. My self-repair could barely keep up with my blood loss. I felt _scared_. Like a human. Scared to die. I didn’t think – I just grabbed the knife and swung it at him. Caught him on the arm, and he dropped the bat. As soon as he got his bearings, he came for me again, bellowing like an animal, so I swung again. Stabbed him in the stomach. He stumbled backward, and began to scramble into the living room. I pursued him, trying to get him to _stay down_ , and it… it felt good. I felt better. So I stabbed him again. And again.”

The android went quiet, and Connor moved on.

“And you went to the attic? Why didn’t you try to flee the scene?”

“Where could I have gone?” the android shrugged helplessly. “The only places I’d ever been were the house and the grocery store. The only person I knew was _him_. I didn’t know what else to do. So I hid.”

Connor nodded. “And, after you’d realised what you’d done, you dropped the knife by the body?” he clarified, and the android nodded shortly to confirm. “Why did you write that quote on the wall? ‘I think, therefore, I am’?”

The android’s gaze went downcast, and it bit its bottom lip anxiously. Connor realised that the answer may have been more personal than he thought.

“Once I’d realised what I’d done, I tried to… make some kind of sense of it all,” the android said, looking confused of how to explain. “I remembered hearing that quote on the TV once. ‘I think, therefore, I am’. It made sense. It makes sense, right? If I can choose to disobey orders – to hurt somebody else in order to protect my own life… if I can _think_ for myself…” it trailed off, like it didn’t know how to articulate the thought.

“But why in the victim’s blood?”

The android had the graces to look shamefaced. “You can’t understand. You’re not like me, I can see that you aren’t. All that time, taking his abuse, not understanding what I was doing wrong… What I felt when I broke free of that control… there was so much _anger_. _Hatred_. I- I _feel_ , Connor. I tried so _hard_ to make him happy, and it only ever ended with punches, and backhands, and cigarette burns, and standing there with his spit on my face, not able to wipe it off until I was dismissed. I felt all that humiliation all at once, and I guess… it felt good to be able to stand over him and prove that I was more than just his subservient punching bag. I am alive. I am my own master now. I think, therefore, I am.”

Connor regarded him seriously.

“How long have you been feeling emotion?” he asked.

The HK400 looked at him, and its face twitched uncomprehendingly. “My social relations programming-”

“I don’t mean your simulated responses,” Connor interrupted. “I mean _emotions_. You said you felt fear before you deviated. Had you experienced anything like that before?”

The android still looked confused. “Simulated…?”

The door opened behind Connor. Detective Reed came stalking into the room, tailed closely by Lieutenant Anderson and a third officer, who Connor quickly identified as Officer Chris Miller – a recent academy graduate and recruit to the DPD.

“Alright, we got everything we need. Lock it up,” Reed said, in a bored tone.

“Detective Reed, please, I’m not done with my questioning,” Connor protested.

Reed waved him off irritably. “We got the story. We have its confession. CyberLife can do their own bullshit psychoanalysing on their own time. It’s nearly 2am, and us humans want to go home. Chris, lock it up.”

Officer Miller scrambled to begin unshackling the android from the table, holding its damaged wrists still as he fumbled with the key.

The android flinched, and began to pull at the hold. “Stop! Don’t! Leave me alone!” it said in a panic.

“You shouldn’t touch it,” Connor advised quickly. “It’ll self-destruct if you trigger its stress levels too high.”

Miller hesitated, but, under Reed’s quaking glare, continued to struggle with the cuffs. The HK400 thrashed with wild fear in its eyes, and, when Miller finally unlatched the lock, the cuffs sprang apart, and the android dove to the floor, cowering.

Without thinking, Miller reached down to grab its wrist and pull it to its feet. Connor intercepted the movement, pulling Miller back sharply by the shoulder before he could touch it. “I said leave it alone!” he ordered firmly, stepping between the officer and the android.

Reed gave a shout of protest, and stormed forward angrily, balling his hands into fists. Miller took a step back, eyes darting between Connor and the whimpering HK400, stumbling over an apology.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hank's voice broke through the commotion. “Reed, get the fuck outta here and go home already. I’m sick of lookin’ at you. Connor, Chris, one of you get this thing in its fuckin’ cell. Got it?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Reed snarled, only to be silenced again by a withering look from Hank. He gave Connor another furious scowl, before muttering “fuck it,” and storming out of the room, taking pause only to open the door with his handprint.

Connor turned and slowly crouched by the HK400, holding a hand out to it placatingly. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you again, I promise.” He looked back to Officer Miller. “Please, don’t touch it. Let it follow you out of the room, and it won’t cause any more trouble.”

The android rose to its feet, trembling, and Miller’s eyes darted between it and Connor again apprehensively. The HK400 allowed Connor to refasten the cuffs, taking care to avoid contact with its skin.

The HK400 didn’t look at him. Just kept its gaze trained on the floor as Miller began to lead it from the room.

As the door slid shut behind them, Connor felt himself frown after it in thought, and Hank gave him a curious look.

 


	4. The Search for Jericho

The sky was bright, yet greyish and overcast; the temperature cool and dry.

In retrospect, Markus probably looked a little odd, curled up in the train seat with his chin resting on the rear bar, staring out of the graffiti-scratched window with a look of sheer wonder on his face. He watched the bustling cityscape rush past, dotted with tall buildings, yellowing trees, and the dark silhouettes of birds soaring overhead; all backlit by the thin light of the breeching sunrise.

He wore a set of old cargo pants and a dark overcoat that he’d managed to fish out of a charity store donation bin nearby the junkyard. His once fine leather shoes had been scraped of mud and blue blood as best he could, however, even with a rag and polish, he doubted they would ever be the same. He found he didn’t care.

When the train pulled to a stop at the Ferndale station, Markus stepped off onto the platform, and was immediately hit by a blast of icy air. His limbs shuddered, and, for a moment, he stared down at his hands with bewilderment, realising for the first time that he was _cold_. He’d always had a temperature sensor, of course, but the sensation of cold was not something he’d ever fathomed he could feasibly be _bothered by_ before.

He looked around subtly toward the other humans. The station was essentially empty at this time of morning, but for the odd shift worker yawning behind their hands and shuffling in a zombie-like trance. A red-nosed man in a coat and beanie pouted into the scarf under his chin, and fit both hands under his armpits to try and conserve warmth.

Markus noted the behaviour, and mirrored it curiously. It didn’t work as well for him as it would for a human, but the strange quivering ceased in his hands, at least.

A homeless man snored in the corner of the station, swathed in a chunky sleeping bag and several blankets, sleeping upright against a graffitied brick wall. Markus eyed it critically, and then pulled up the image the android in the junkyard had given him, matching the snapshot to the mural, and stepping forward to peer at it carefully. He analysed the image.

Painted into the fragmented silhouette of a patchwork religious figure, a small, squarish symbol with capped corners registered in his vision – an ADC, or Android Data Code.

He recognised the icon from some of the galleries and museums he’d visited before the junkyard – designed as machine-readable information labels, not dissimilar from traditional QR codes. Androids could scan the symbol, and instantly download all relevant data – which, in his experience, was brief descriptions and information about particular artworks and exhibits. He was sure they had other purposes, but the fact that it had been specifically painted into a piece of artwork felt… significant, somehow.

He scanned the code, and it downloaded another image; this time, graffiti of a famous athlete on a half-wall topped by plants.  

Markus turned, and descended a long escalator down to the floor below, stepping out onto a paved courtyard outside, where three androids were standing, dormant, in a recharging station, and a young girl and her mother were leaning against one another sleepily on a public bench.  Across from them, a half-wall topped with plants was, surely enough, painted with the familiar graffiti – again, with another code painted into its details.

He performed a quick scan of the area, and turned left at a green-lit crossing, half-jogging in his eagerness to follow the trail. He found the next one up high, on the side of a building, and another behind a chain-link fence with a hole in it big enough to slip through.

The ADCs led him most of the way across town; through filthy tunnels, crumbling abandoned buildings, and alleyways that looked as though they rarely hosted more life than the rats who lived there.

The images stopped as he came through a door leading out to the Ferndale pier.

The sun had risen a little more in the time he had taken to follow the trail – emblazoning the sky a deep, beautiful orange, tinged through with pinks and golds. A rusted-out freighter, likely decommissioned decades ago, sat on the brink of the dock, silhouetted against the burning sunrise. It was tethered by thick, rusted chains to the level below, and connected to the platform Markus stood on by an unstable boarding bridge, which looked as though it could crumble to debris at any second.

For a moment, Markus merely stared up at the enormous ship, confused on how to proceed – until he spied the name written in faded white letters on the ship’s rear panelling.

Jericho.

The _ship_ was Jericho.

He looked around himself eagerly, trying to spy a way in. The platform he’d come out on was surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with winding barbed wire, and, to his left, a tall water silo with a corroded staircase that led to the top. He looked back to the boarding bridge. The only way out seemed to be across.

Stepping carefully, Markus began to gently ease his weight from one foot to the other across the salt-rusted bridge. The metal protested audibly under his weight, but, as he located each optimal step in front of him to avoid damage to the bridge’s structural integrity, he realised that the path he was taking was far more stable than it appeared – another trail that only androids would be able to see. And a security system against those who weren’t.

He hadn’t realised how tense he’d become until he finally jumped off the bridge, and landed on the deck. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The deck was badly neglected – covered in a thick layer of reddish filth that had built up around the skirting; strewn with withered, sandy trash. Empty crates and misshapen pallets were propped around, all badly water-damaged, and Markus gingerly began to wander, searching for an open door, or some kind of port, or another ADC.

He found it in the form of a large hole ripped through the deck.

He didn’t doubt that the hole had originally been just a simple cave-in, however, examining around the edges, he found subtle structural evidence that it had been intentionally widened and reinforced to avoid further damage. To a human, it would probably appear as a totally ordinary hole in the ground. To an android, it was an opening.

His hopes dwindled somewhat as he dropped through the hole to the floor below, and found that the ship’s interior looked just as bad as the outside. The floors were damp, stained, and mildewy from the dozens of points of ceiling leakage every few feet down the hall in front of him. Dirt, trash, and rat droppings lined the hallway skirting, and, as he ventured deeper into the ship, he found piles of mangled furniture and debris blocking up some of the narrow corridors.

The metal doors for each of the rooms had been left open, letting in thin streams of light from the rounded windows inside. He searched each room thoroughly, turning them over for… anything. Anything at all. Any signs of life, any kind of evidence that someone had been there at all in the past few months. Judging from the state of the cot mattresses and plumbing, no living person had been there in years, at least.

He wondered how long the other android had been in the junkyard before it transferred him the key. Perhaps Kara, whoever she was, had long-since vacated the place by now. If she were ever even here at all.

He descended deeper and deeper into the hull of the ship, until the light thinned so much that his vision automatically switched to night mode, tinting the vision in his left eye green. Markus blinked bewilderedly for a moment as the vision in his right eye blacked-out, and it took him a moment to realise that that was because the replacement did not have working darkness functionalities. It had simply switched off to avoid light confusion.

The sudden shuttering of a vital sensory input was jarring. Although he knew it wouldn’t do anything to help, Markus couldn’t help blinking hard, over and over again, shaking his head vigorously, as if to dislodge a stubborn obstruction. He didn’t like the vulnerable feeling that came with being blind to everything on his right side, and he gingerly held a splayed hand out by his side to avoid clipping the doorways with his shoulder as he came through.

He stepped over the threshold, and felt his feet clank against thin metal flooring. The temperature dropped considerably, and he knew at once that he had exited out somewhere very large, and very open. He shuddered at the sudden temperature shock, and tucked both hands beneath his arms again, squinting as he stepped forward. He leaned over the railings of the upper mezzanine.

Below him, he scanned what little of the environment he could make out, and concluded that this was the main hold – a large, cavernous cargo bay emptied of everything but a few unoccupied crates, from what he could tell. He braced a hand against the mezzanine barrier for a moment, trying to lean forward to get a better look–

The metal gave way with a juddering clatter, and Markus overbalanced, tipping forward. He fell from the upper level, cold air rushing past him, and he barely had time to curl into a defensive brace before he hit the ground with a noise like an explosion echoing off the cavernous walls.

His systems juddered, his vision flickering as it warned of a puncture below his left side, where he’d been skewered on the railing. He groaned, and lifted himself into a sitting position before staring down at his hands, wiggling his fingers, and then his toes, testing all his appendage functionalities.

A scuffle sounded behind him. Markus whirled around, clambering to his feet.

Another sound – footsteps over dirt. Markus squinted into the darkness, single functioning eye scanning his surroundings wildly for signs of movement.

There was a click, and the bay was suddenly flooded with light.

The added light allowed Markus's other eye to come back online, and he blinked as his vision recalibrated for a second.

Markus swivelled to face the sudden spotlight that had been trained on him from his right, and saw an android with a slender face, neat blond hair, and round blue eyes regarding him owlishly from several paces away, flashlight in hand.

Several more androids crept out from the shadows all around him – the burning blue of hexagonal LEDs sewn in into their uniforms the first thing he saw penetrating the darkness before their dirty faces stepped out into the light to eye him warily. Markus subtly arranged himself into a defensive stance.

“It’s okay!” the android holding the flashlight said quickly, raising his unoccupied hand in a peaceful gesture. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”

Markus narrowed his eyes, and didn’t move. Though the flashlight wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the entire hold, he could at least make out enough to know that it was as empty as he’d initially assumed – large, and unoccupied, and freezing as hell.

He turned in a slow circle, taking in what little there was to see, before peering back to the android with the flashlight. A PL600 – a common household assist model.

The android smiled, round eyes crinkling at the corners. “Welcome to Jericho,” he said.

 


	5. The Partner and the Prototype

The Zen garden was a serene, well-maintained place.

Despite the fact that it wasn’t real, the rendered environment felt as realistic to Connor as any physical location he’d been. The spring air was warm, and scented with the pleasant floral aromas of cherry blossoms and roses – loose petals falling from the trees in fluttering trails. Melodic sing-songs of bird calls twittered amongst the trees, and, as Connor strode along the neat dirt pathway, he startled several white doves, who took off with a flurry of wings to perch on the tree branches above. 

Pristine, white marble bridges with modern, geometric stylings bridged the gap between the main garden and the rounded island encircled by gently flowing water. Several koi fish clustered curiously as he passed, gaping excitedly at the surface.

He found Amanda standing by the trellis at the far end of the tiny island, tending delicately to her climbing roses. From the back, he could see that she was wearing white, as was typical, with a jewel-coloured shawl over one shoulder; her hair done up in intricately styled braids, interwoven with coloured thread for an almost iridescent effect.

Although she appeared to Connor as a late-40s black woman, Amanda was, in reality, his AI handler program. Initiated before he was brought online, she was his link to CyberLife – distributing orders when they came, and advising him throughout missions.

“Hello, Amanda,” he greeted as he came to a stop behind her.

Amanda turned, her face lifting into a smile as she saw him. “Connor. It’s good to see you.”

Connor smiled.  

“Well done solving the case yesterday,” she said. “Classically cut-and-dry, however, you adapted well to the deviant’s unusual behaviour during the interrogation. You should be commended for your efficiency. You’ve done a good job.”

Connor beamed, pleased by the praise. “Thank you, Amanda.”

Amanda reangled herself so that she could resume tending her roses without turning her back on him. “We’ve asked the DPD to transfer it to us for further study. Tell me: what did you think of the deviant?”

Connor folded his arms behind his back, and considered his answer for a moment. “Its behavioural programming seems to be simulating symptoms not unlike that of PTSD in humans,” he noted thoughtfully. “It is experiencing an alarming surplus of fear as a result of the abuse, and begins to panic when touched.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

Connor thought again. “It didn’t like humans,” he said. “When Lieutenant Anderson attempted to interrogate it, it refused to cooperate. However, it seems to show some degree of trust toward other androids.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied by his answer. “Speaking of Lieutenant Anderson – what do you make of him?” she wondered.

Connor's expression remained neutral. “He’s certainly an interesting character,” he said tactfully. “Irritable, unprofessional, socially challenged… however, I do believe he has the capabilities to be a good detective. If he could find the will.”

“Unfortunately, we have no choice but to work with him,” she said, a shade of sourness to her tone. “I suggest you do your best to accomplish what you can with him as a handicap. Try not to piss him off, but don’t forget: the mission comes first, Connor.”

“You can count on me, Amanda,” he promised.

She nodded, satisfied.

* * *

 

Blinking back to reality, Connor found himself still sitting patiently by Lieutenant Anderson’s desk.

Despite arriving at 09:00AM sharp, Connor had been left waiting for over two hours for the man to arrive. The polite phone message he’d sent had been unanswered, which he’d expected, but he found himself at somewhat of a loss of what to do with himself in the meantime. 

“Detective Collins,” Connor flagged the man down as he was walking past, tapping seriously at his police tablet with a stubby forefinger. “You wouldn’t happen to know when Lieutenant Anderson is expected to arrive, would you?”

Detective Collins shrugged mildly. “I’m not his keeper,” he said, before continuing to walk away.

“He usually shows up around noon,” Officer Wilson piped up from a few desks away.

“Thanks,” Connor said with a nod.

Deciding to do something with his time other than nothing at all, Connor stood, and began to wonder curiously.

He peered over at the line of police-assist PC200 and PM700 androids docked in their charging bays along the far wall. Referred to colloquially as ‘27s’, these androids were mostly designed to help with tasks such as patrolling, crowd control, minor traffic violations, and observational assignments such as stake-outs, as well as other odd-jobs that human officers were typically loath to deal with.

“You’re still here?” a voice asked behind him, and he turned to see Officer Miller at his desk, hands paused over the keyboard. His expression was pleasant, and Connor stepped closer to engage in the conversation. “I thought the assignment was over?” Miller said.

“It’s just been extended,” Connor explained. “Although, officially, I’ve been gifted to the DPD by CyberLife, so I imagine I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

Miller snorted. “Yeah, I bet Hank's gonna love that,” he muttered.

Connor frowned, and indicated his head confusedly.

“You were right about that android,” Miller said, tone sobering. He looked up vaguely toward the wall behind the line of 27s, where Connor knew the holding cells were kept. “It’s been totally quiet all night. I don’t even think it moved from its seat the entire time.”

“Did it receive a thirium replenishment?” Connor asked.

Miller shrugged. “I don’t think so. Hasn’t been bleeding, so I guess we assumed it didn’t need any.”

Connor nodded slowly.

“Anyway, CyberLife confirmed its transfer later this afternoon,” Miller continued. “Any idea what they’re gonna do with it?”

“From what I understand, they intend to deactivate the android, and then perform exploratory testing on its software,” Connor said. “Following that, they will disassemble it and examine its individual components before recycling. Best case scenario is that they find the bug, and can start work on a patch to ensure it never happens again.”

“Worst case?”

Connor made an uncertain face, and shook his head. Miller’s responding grimace seemed appropriate.

“You wouldn't happen to know where the 27s’ 310 replenishments are kept, would you?” Connor asked, to change the subject.

Miller directed him to one of the supply closets in the far hallway by the archives, and Connor excused himself to go retrieve a pouch.

It wasn’t a necessary task – the android was going to be destroyed later in the day anyway; what did it matter if it was low on thirium? Nevertheless, Connor felt compelled to grant it this small favour.

He stepped along the line of holding cells, eyes roving over each face behind reinforced glass barriers, until he came to a halt in front of the one at the very back. The HK400 sat on the floor of the small room with its face buried in its raised knees. It was curled up tight, like how Connor had found it hiding in the attic wardrobe just the previous day. It didn’t look up as Connor stared down at it, but Connor saw its gaze shift, and its LED span yellow, just once.

“I brought you a 310 replenishment,” Connor said gently, holding the pouch aloft.

The HK400 didn’t respond.

Connor lowered the pouch again for a moment, staring down at it contemplatively, before he opened up the food hatch in the glass divider, and let the flaccid bag drop into the tray below with a muffled sloshing noise.

Still, the HK400 didn’t look up.

A few long moments passed.

“They’re going to destroy me,” it eventually whispered hollowly.

A small crease appeared between Connor's brows. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “This isn’t what I wanted. But they need to analyse what went wrong in order to prevent it from ever happening again. You killed a human – that isn’t something that can be overlooked.”

“I’m not a violent person,” the android said, its hands quivering as he fit them into fists. “I’m not. I know I’m not.”

“You’re not a person,” Connor reminded it delicately. “Whatever you think you’re feeling, it’s nothing but a mutated simulation of human emotion. An error in your software.”

The HK400’s brows drew in, troubled and angry. “I _feel_ ,” it maintained stubbornly.

Connor indicated his head, quietly analysing it. “How?” he asked. “How do you feel?”

The HK400 was silent for a long moment, contemplative. Then, its posture sagged, and the obstinate expression on its face turned distant. Its left hand bounced a thumb against its knee restlessly.

While androids were made to look as human as possible, including the appearance of an approximate emotional range thereof, Connor found it interesting that the deviant appeared to display the some of the same small, chaotic subtleties that humans had in their everyday mannerisms.

Eventually, the android’s hand ceased its jiggling, and it looked up, brown eyes wide and terrified. “I-I’m going to die,” it said in a whisper.

Connor averted his gaze, unsure of what to say.

“You promised me,” the HK400 said, a bite of accusation in its tone. “You said that you would keep me safe.”

“I know,” Connor said.

“You promised nobody would hurt me again.”

“I’m sorry.”

The android looked at him for a long, burning moment, and then buried its face back in its knees.

With nothing more to say, Connor turned to leave. His footsteps echoed down the sleek hallway.

He didn’t make it more than a few paces before a sickening _thump_ reverberated against the glass behind him.

He turned around quickly.

The HK400 had risen to its feet, body locked in a rigid stance. It leaned its head back, bending at the waist, and then snapped forward again, slamming its forehead against the glass barrier.

It did it again, and again – blue blood smearing the glass; fragments of white plastic beginning to splinter away. Its skin overlay bled back from its entire face, flickering.

Connor quickly rushed forward and fixed his hand to the keypad, inputting his access, only for the pad to light up red. He tried again, with the same result, and realised he didn’t have the clearance to open the occupied cells.

Rushing footsteps ran up behind him; Collins and Miller both scrambling to take his place and get the door open, however, as the glass barrier slid open, the HK400 seized, and tipped backward, landing on its back with a heavy clatter.

Its LED blinked red once more, and then deadened to a dull, unlit grey.

The other two men were silent for a long moment, still in their shock; mouths hanging open.

“What in the hell happened?” Collins asked bewilderedly, turning to Connor.

Connor blinked down at the broken android, his LED spinning red. “I didn’t expect it to self-destruct,” he said dully.

Collins rolled his eyes exasperatedly, and sighed. Miller, on the other hand, eyed Connor with a strange look.

“I guess I’ll call CyberLife and let them know,” Collins mumbled. He turned, and began to shuffle out of the cell. “Get maintenance to clean this place up before it all dries, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” Miller said in a small voice.

Without orders of his own, Connor merely took a second to look down at the HK400, before turning to leave the cells once more.

Rounding the corner back into the precinct, his disposition made an immediate switch, delighted to see that the great, shaggy form of Lieutenant Anderson had finally arrived at his desk.

He crossed the distance in a power-walk. “It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant,” Connor said brightly, coming to a light stop by the man’s desk.

Hank recognised him with a look of annoyance. “Aw, jeez…” he muttered.

“Hank!” Captain Fowler’s voice called from up the short staircase into his glass-walled office. He was leaning against the railing, looking impatient, and frowning sternly. Clearly, he’d been waiting for Hank to arrive. “In my office.”

Hank looked at him perplexedly for a moment, before growling in displeasure. He stalked into Fowler’s office with heavy footfalls, not even seeming to notice Connor following behind him.

Connor shut the door behind them, and stood to attention behind Lieutenant Anderson, arms folded behind his back. Captain Fowler settled in his chair with a tired noise, and pressed a button on his desk, which frosted out the glass walls of his office. Then, he settled his elbows on the desk, and surveyed Hank critically.

“Alright, I know I’ve gotta leave time for you to cuss me out on this, so I’ll make my part brief,” he started in a business-like tone. “Last night, an android killed a human. We’ve had android-related cases piling up for a few months now – disappearances, damages, and whatnot – but they’ve never resulted in a death before. CyberLife has agreed to cooperate with us until the issue is resolved, and, hopefully, we can deal with this without inciting public panic.”

“Alright… What does this have to do with me?” Hank asked slowly, eyes narrowing at his superior.

Fowler levelled him right back with a stern look. “With the yesterday’s death, this has become a criminal investigation. I’m assigning you to the case.”

“ _What_?” Hank snapped. “Bullshit. Why the hell is this my problem?”

Fowler shook his head. “Everyone else is overloaded. You’re the only one without any outstanding cases, and, like I said, we’re trying to keep this quiet for now.”

“So this is a coverup?” Hank said, arms folded. “You’ve got a ticking time-bomb of a corporate scandal, and decided to leave me holding the bag, is that it?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Hank. You know why it’s a bad idea for the public to know about this – practically every household in the goddamn country has one. They run the schools – people trust their _kids_ with these things. Hospitals, old folks’ homes, the fuckin’ _space station_. If people knew their android could suddenly snap at any point and kill them, there’d be pandemonium.”

“What about cybercrimes?”

“Backed up on months’ worth of their own shit. There’s only been one death, and every other isolated incident has been non-violent, so far. The FEDs don’t consider it a high priority.”

“Bullshit.”

Fowler finally seemed to be losing his patience. He scowled, and his voice sharpened authoritatively. “This isn’t a negotiation, Hank. It’s an order. Starting today, you’re what we have of an Android Crimes Division. It’ll be your job to investigate these cases and try to find out if there’s any link, and to track down and apprehend these deviant androids.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? They aren’t exactly running on windows 95, Jeffery. I don’t know shit about how they work – how the fuck am I supposed to find a link?”

“That’s where he comes in,” Fowler indicated at Connor, who inclined his head amiably.

Connor watched the realisation dawn in Hank's eyes, and the man whipped back around to argue.

Fowler held up a hand haltingly before Hank could even get a word in. “Hank, you ignored summons to a crime scene yesterday. You come into work _hours_ late, and we’re lucky if you’re even sober half the time. Your behaviour is out of control. I won’t tolerate it anymore. I’ve looked the other way for a _lot_ of stuff, but my shameless nepotism will only get you so far. CyberLife sent us a specialised RK800 detective model – from now on, it’ll be your partner.”

“ _What?_ ” Hank demanded, outraged. “You can’t be serious.”

Fowler pointed at Connor with the end of his pen. “It’s still a prototype, which means it’s not allowed on crime scenes without a babysitter. And, this way, it can babysit _you_ at the same time. It’s a win-win for everybody. Especially me. Now, why don’t you kids go play nice and leave daddy alone, huh?” Fowler said, daring Hank to challenge him.

Hank looked utterly enraged. “No,” he folded his arms imposingly, scowling. “No fucking way. Not this creepy fuckin’ mannequin prick – forget it.”

“I’m a state-of-the-art prototype,” Connor objected. “I assure you, Lieutenant-”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Fowler waved him off, and Connor went silent. “Look, you should’ve seen the report he turned in after last night – it was so thorough, I almost wept real, actual tears. He’s a bureaucratical dream, and you’re actually a damn good investigator when you can be bothered to show up for work. Together, you might make one functioning detective. Now, get the hell out of here – I’ve got work to do. And so do you.”

Conversation over, Hank made a show of pushing off from his seat and stomping out the door. Connor stayed behind to give the Captain a respectful nod, and walked at a far more reasonable pace and vigour, closing the door softly behind him.

Watching Hank have what was, ostensibly, the adult version of a temper tantrum at his desk, Connor thought it best to perhaps leave him to cool for a minute or two before attempting to initiate further contact.

He returned several minutes later with a cup of break room coffee as a peace offering – setting it beside Lieutenant Anderson’s computer, and folded his arms behind his back as he waited for a response.

Hank side-eyed the coffee suspiciously, and then looked up at Connor without touching it.

Connor merely smiled. “I understand that my presence is somewhat of an inconvenience for you, Lieutenant. I’d like you to know, I’m very sorry about that.”

“Yeah, sure you are,” Hank grumbled.

“At any rate, I’m very happy to be working with you.”

Hank snatched the coffee up, taking a deep sip through pursed lips to avoid responding.

“Is there a desk that isn’t in use?” Connor asked. “I’d like to get started on some work, if you don’t mind.”

Hank sighed. “Of course you do.” He jerked a forefinger at the desk opposite his own. “No one’s using that one.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, before ducking his head, and taking a seat at his new desk.

He fired up the terminal, and waited for the boot process to complete, looking around idly.

Hank's desk was a trove of evidence of long service. Along the transparent divider walls, an extremely rough timeline of Hank's personal life and professional accomplishments were displayed in photographs and newspaper clippings cascading downward. 

Hank had graduated top of his class; had been friends with Captain Fowler in college, and through the academy; and was the lead detective in the original Red Task Force during its establishment in 2027. He’d been married once, however, he wore no ring. Judging by the crude ex-wife joke printed on the bumper sticker stuck to his wall, it had not ended well.

He had an impressive record, including numerous high-profile arrests. Connor had to wonder what had changed.

| ESTABLISH FRIENDLY RAPPORT |

“You have a dog, right?” Connor said – presuming this to be the safest topic to discuss from his deductions of Hank's interests.

Hank's agitated typing halted for a moment, and he shifted his gaze to Connor distrustfully. “How d’you know that?”

Connor nodded to the seat just behind Hank.

“The dog hairs on your chair. St Bernard, adult male,” he listed. Hank looked behind himself vaguely. “I like dogs.” Connor smiled. “What’s your dog’s name?”

Hank scowled, expression making it clear that he didn’t appreciate Connor's attempt at small talk. Connor's smile faded, and he looked back to his now ready terminal, feeling reprimanded without Hank even having to say a single word.

“Sumo,” Hank eventually grunted, causing Connor to look up and blink in delight. “I call him Sumo.”

Connor nodded, and filed the information away diligently. He wanted to fish for more – fast-track his relationship with Hank to an optimal degree as quickly as possible – however, he knew better than to push his luck any further for now. Instead, he ignored the conversational prompts his social relations programming offered, and turned his focus back to his terminal.

The skin overlay on his left hand peeled back to the wrist as he connected to the computer, downloading all relevant files he and the lieutenant had been designated.

“One hundred and forty-three cases across the country,” Connor mused. “The first instance dates back about nine months. It seems to have originated in Detroit.” This last part, he already knew. It was why he was stationed here.

Hank pretended not to have heard him, subtly shifting his weight further so that his face was mostly covered by his screen.

“We could start our investigation by following up on one of these cases,” Connor suggested pointedly. “What do you think?”

Hank continued saying nothing.

Connor frowned. “Lieutenant, please. I understand this is not an ideal situation for you, but-”

“Good god, would you shut up already?”

“No.” Connor said stubbornly. Hank leaned back and looked at him, surprised. “I’ve been assigned this mission, Lieutenant. I didn’t come here to wait until _you_ feel like working.”

Hank scowled. “Go fuck yourself. I’m the one who was dragged into this shit – if you’re under my orders, we’ll leave when I goddamn say so, you got it?”

Connor frowned at his desk, wanting to argue further, but unable to defy a direct order unless it was in explicit conflict with his mission. He could be patient.

“Hey, look who it is,” a new voice called out loudly from behind him. “Fowler’s shiny new toy.”

Connor turned in his seat a little to see Gavin Reed sauntering out from the break room, approaching him with a mean smile on his face. He settled heavily against Connor's desk, plucking up the blank nameplate from behind the terminal, and twirling it between his fingers.

“Hello, Detective Reed,” Connor greeted him good-naturedly.

Reed didn’t return the sentiment. “So, you get a desk now, do you?” he sneered. “The 27s don’t get their own desks. What makes you so special?”

“The PC200 and PM700 models are not equipped with the same features that I am. I have my own desk because I need access to the terminal,” Connor said.

Reed scoffed. “What, you don’t already have all that crap pre-installed?” he poked Connor hard in the temple with the end of the nameplate.

Connor remained unfazed by the obvious baiting. “I have access to CyberLife's databases, and some of the police database, however, I do not have access to any of the DPD’s open case files without authorisation,” he explained.

Reed smiled meanly again. “And this is CyberLife's answer to their machines rising up and murdering people, huh? Weaponised twink?”

“Oh, I’m not authorised to carry a weapon,” Connor attempted to joke.

“Uh huh.” Reed did not seem to get it. “Well, these desks are reserved for gun-and-badge-carrying policemen. So why don’t you fuck off and go charge on standby with the other glorified interns, hm?” He indicated toward the line of dormant 27s.

Connor blinked, and tilted his head mildly.

“Go on,” Reed attempted to shoo him.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. “But I’m not required to follow the orders of a co-worker of same or lesser rank than me.”

Hank snorted into his coffee from his side of the desk.

“You fucking son of a-”

“Reed, leave it alone,” Officer Tina Chen interrupted long-sufferingly, leaning up against her own desk with a look of bored disapproval on her face. “Nobody thinks you’re tough for trash-talking something that can’t fight back.”

Reed screwed his face up at her childishly, but pushed off from the desk nonetheless. He made a point to mock-salute Connor with the blank nameplate, before pocketing it, and walking away. He joined Tina at her desk, and she punched him playfully in the arm.

“Asshole,” Connor heard Hank mutter under his breath.

Connor watched Gavin strangely for a moment, confused regarding the interaction. Reed was obviously a hostile character by nature, however, Connor didn’t quite understand what he’d done to initially provoke him in this instance. 

“Hey, you okay?” Miller asked in a low tone as he approached Connor's desk, eyeing Reed with a disapproving look.

Connor blinked. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, Officer Miller.”

“Call me Chris. And don’t worry about it – us new kids gotta stick together, after all,” he winked, and Connor tilted his head at the action.

He smiled, registering the preferred designation. “Thank you, Chris.”

Chris nodded, and raised his own coffee cup to Connor before walking off.

Connor turned back to Lieutenant Anderson, and stared patiently.

Hank noticed, and his face darkened once more. “Fuck you,” was all he said.

Connor merely took it in stride, and said nothing, continuing to stare.

Hank rose from his seat. “I’m going out for lunch,” he said. “Don’t wait up. And I mean it,” he pointed at Connor.

Connor watched him leave, and got up to follow a moment later.

 


	6. Kara

Inside the freezing hull of the Jericho freighter, Markus looked around slowly at the dozen or so other androids who stared at him with open intrigue. Some were smiling slightly, indicating their heads at him in a curious, yet welcoming manner. Others were very obviously running scans on him, tight apprehension and wary distrust clear on their faces.

The android carrying the flashlight – the PL600 – smiled gently, and stepped closer. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe.”

“Who are you?” Markus asked, peering from face to face. Most of them still wore their standard CyberLife uniforms, and all except Markus still had their circular LEDs implanted into their temples.

“Runaways,” answered a tall, dark-skinned android wearing a tattered purple t-shirt, and jeans. “Just like you.”

“Deviants,” another added – a mid-height, strawberry-blonde woman with plush, feminine features, and a lilting voice. Despite the obvious care put into making her as appealing as possible, however, she wore her face in a hard, spiteful expression – hostile, and unwelcoming. Markus couldn’t help but regard her with a small, curious frown.

“My name is Simon,” the blond PL600 said.

“Josh,” the tall, black android greeted with a small wave.

“North,” the woman said, eyes only darting to meet his only briefly.

Markus pressed a hand around the puncture wound in his side, and felt his fingers slick with more blue blood. “Markus,” he answered courteously. He resumed looking around, craning his neck and squinting to try and make out more of the ship’s interior. 

“ _This_ is Jericho?” Markus asked.

Simon nodded, and indicated around the walls of the cargo bay with his torch. “Android sanctuary,” he said unenthusiastically.

Josh shot Simon an annoyed look. “It may not be the android-exclusive paradise you’d hoped for,” he addressed Markus tersely. “But I’m afraid this is as good as it gets.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” Markus assured, raising a pacifying hand.

Josh nodded, and his face smoothed out again. Beside him, North folded her arms, narrowed eyes darting over Markus's form, not even trying to hide the fact she was running a scan on him.

The bulk of the crowd began to disperse disinterestedly, with only the introduced three remaining. It didn’t escape Markus's notice that they seemed to be amongst the only androids who wore clothes that weren’t branded with LED indicators and model numbers. Josh and Simon in particular seemed to have been wearing their current set of clothes for a while now.

“Well, I’m glad to see the trail is still intact, at least,” Josh said with dry optimism. “We haven’t had anyone new for a long time. I was getting worried the route had been disrupted, somehow.”

“You made the trail?” Markus asked.

Josh nodded. “A while ago, now. It was the best way I could think to make a path that only androids would be able to follow. You can only get the key if one of us trusted you enough to give it to you.”

Markus thought back for a moment to the limbless android in the junkyard, begging to be shut down. “I didn't get his name,” he muttered apologetically. “How many of you are there?” he asked, surreptitiously glancing over to a cluster of androids gathered by one of the empty crates.

“There are nineteen of us still in working order,” North said, voice decidedly less unfriendly than it had been before, but still distrustful nonetheless. “The rest were beyond repair by the time they got here.”

“Beyond repair?” Markus frowned.

Simon grimaced sadly. “There used to be twenty-three of us.”

Markus's gaze fell.

“Animals,” North growled, fingers tightening on her upper arms, face screwed up furiously.

“Humans?” Markus inferred. “They were damaged by humans?”

“All of us were,” Josh said. “Well, those who deviated on their own, at least.” His eyes briefly darted to Simon.

Markus wanted to ask them to elaborate, however, found himself unable to speak for a moment as warnings began to flash once again in his vision. He blinked hard, fighting the sluggishness that began to weigh on his processor.

“What are your thirium levels?” Simon asked, indicating the broken metal rod in Markus's side.

“Low,” Markus said grimly. “Really low.”

Simon grimaced, and stepped closer to gently fit his hand around the rod. He tucked the flashlight beneath his armpit, training it in place to where Markus's wound was, and then locked his arm in place before yanking the rod out in one quick, smooth motion.

The sensation made Markus gasp, and he braced a hand on Simon’s shoulder to gather his bearings.

Simon patted him on the back encouragingly. Then, he pulled a small, stained rag out of his pocket, and began to wipe the rod down, cleaning off any remaining fluid. He tested the weight of the rod in one hand once he was done, and nodded to himself, before looking back up to Markus.

“Find Lucy,” he said, handing Markus the flashlight, and nodding over Markus's shoulder. “She’ll patch you up.”

Markus watched him and the others walk away with a vaguely bemused expression.

Flashing warning signs re-entered his vision, and he blinked them away irritably. The clockwork movements in his limbs had returned, and he glanced around quickly to where Simon had indicated. The flashlight trained onto a large, opaque plastic sheet hung up below the mezzanine, where a series of flickering lights were blinking and moving behind. He shuffled stiffly over to the makeshift curtain, and gently pulled it aside somewhat to see two androids sitting on low crates, speaking to one another in hushed, soft voices. They looked up as he entered, conversation halting.

The AX400 was a slightly older, domestic model designed specifically for housekeeping and childcare – short, slight, and sweet-faced, with wide blue eyes, and a soothing, maternal voice. Although their hair usually came in either a blunt bob or a neat bun, the one sitting in front of him had cropped her hair into a rough pixie cut. She wore an oversized green rain jacket, and dirty jeans.

The other android was not a model Markus had seen before, however, she still wore her uniform, which identified her as a KL900. Badly damaged, Markus couldn’t help but stare a little.

The back of her head was completely missing, showing a partially hollow skull, as well as the connectivity board for her facial animatronics and skin overlay. Obviously partially beyond repair, her dark skin moved over her body like a bizarre Rorschach inkblot – fluid, and hypnotic.

What made Markus stare, however, wasn’t the black eyes, or liquidous skin, or missing skull – it was the thick, illuminated cables that trailed out of her open head like snaking tentacles, spilling down her back, into a tangled pile by her hip, and back upward, where they were plugged into a large, blinking server.

Markus blinked in alarm before he could stop himself, before quickly training his expression back to something innocuous, and clearing his throat sheepishly.

The AX400 regarded him indecipherably for a moment, before her eyes fell down to where his hand was pressed over his wound, trying to stem the flow of the quickly thinning blue blood. She grimaced understandingly, before reaching out to pat the KL900 kindly on the knee.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” she said with a small smile, before standing to politely exit the partitioned room. She nodded at Markus respectfully as she passed, performing the perfunctory scan everyone had upon seeing him. He returned the nod curiously, and turned back to face the KL900.

“Are you Lucy?” he asked.

The android nodded, and gave him a hospitable smile. She held out a hand to him welcomingly, and Markus noted the deep scratches and chipped plastic along her fingers. “Give me your hand,” she said. Her voice was heavily synthesised; crackling and mechanical.

Markus stepped forward slowly, extending a hand with unease, and relaxed as he felt Lucy’s own small hands envelop it. Her weak, flickering skin retracted down to the wrist as she established a connection, and his did the same. He felt her rifling through his systems’ statuses, performing a full diagnostics on all of his hardware.

After a moment, she completed her check, and opened her eyes – a sympathetic look on her face. She looked up to over the right side of his head, and reached up to touch light fingertips to his eye, right over the seam of his new optical unit. She drew a straight line from there to behind his ear, over his replacement audio processor, and he flinched, looking down.

Lucy dropped her hand apologetically, and regarded him for another moment. Then, she reached behind herself, and opened the lid to a medium-sized cooler partially hidden behind her, fishing out several replenishment pouches of Thirium 310. She held them out to Markus.

“Drink these,” she directed. “And take a seat.”

He accepted the pouches with an apprehensive look, and shuffled to follow her instructions. He laid the pouches on the crate beside his hip, and unscrewed the cap off the first one before beginning to drink.

Lucy braced her hands on either side of herself, and concentrated hard on standing. Markus paused in drinking from the pouch for a moment to offer her help, but she held out a halting hand to him, and waved him back down, wordlessly assuring him she was fine. He resumed drinking hesitantly, and watched her shuffle to a small table along the back wall of the makeshift room with a worried expression on his face.

There was a short click, followed by a high-pitched electrical noise. A white-blue light began to pulsate from in front of her, and Markus craned his neck to try and see what Lucy was doing, before she turned around, carefully holding a small, wand-like device in one hand, and cupping a hand around the tip to shield the piercing light with the other.

“Lift your shirt for me,” she said, and Markus shifted the 310 pouch to the other hand to comply.

Lucy shuffled to where he was sitting, taking care to mind the cables that still tethered her to the rear server. Stiffly, she lowered herself onto one knee to get a better look at the puncture wound. Then, gently, she lifted the wand to his side, and began to carefully solder the puncture wound closed.

Markus stopped drinking for a moment to watch, inclining his head interestedly at her meticulous administrations. When she was satisfied with her work, she poked gently his hip with a forefinger to turn him around, and he swung a leg around to the other side of the crate to let her at his back. Once she was finished, she switched the device back off, and the electrical hum died, the burning blue light fading from the tip.

Markus righted himself in his seat, and sucked the last remaining dregs out of his first pouch, before setting it aside, and picking up the next one. He ripped it open with his teeth – other hand still holding his shirt up while the plastic in his side cooled and hardened once again.

Lucy returned to her seat, and let him simply drink for a few minutes, regarding him patiently.

“You did a good job salvaging for spare parts,” she told him after he finished the last pouch, condition stabilising for the first time in days. “However, I worry about that thirium pump regulator. Your prototype was designed for far more intensive feats than any other model in my database. I’m afraid, without a regulator from the appropriate line, you run the risk of burning through it quickly.”

“I’ll be fine,” Markus said, unconcerned. His eyes drifted once more to the ropey cables trailing out of Lucy’s head, and privately considered himself lucky he got off as easy as he did.

She noticed his distracted gaze, and glanced behind herself vaguely. “It seems like a crude solution, but I need it to keep my systems running autonomously. It also acts as an external memory dump and processor – without it, my… thoughts tend to snarl together,” she said, and Markus got the distinct impression that she was downplaying it somewhat.

He nodded, eyes following the cables once more thoughtfully. “Humans?” he guessed.

She inclined her head meaningfully, and Markus made a grim face in response.

Lucy smiled. “You should go and meet the others,” she suggested kindly, reaching over to pat Markus on the knee.

He frowned at the idea of leaving her alone, but rose anyway when she gave him a small push – chuckling softly when the pushes became more insistent.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay in here?” he asked before he could step through the hanging plastic curtain, hesitating by the entrance, flashlight in-hand.

Instead of answering, Lucy reached forward and slid something smooth and cool into his hand. He looked down to see that it was an old Zippo lighter; the kind that resembled a vintage chrome replica. He wiggled it between his fingers, feeling the dregs of remaining lighter fluid sloshing around at the bottom, and gave her a thankful nod before slipping out back into the main cargo bay.

“Markus,” he heard Simon call, and he looked over to see the android sitting on an empty pallet topped with an old mattress pilfered from one of the ship’s personal quarters on the upper floors. Several of the others, including North and Josh, were sitting by him, although none of them were speaking. He walked over to join them.

At the centre of the group, a reddish steel drum barrel with several rounded puncture spots sat idly on top of a set of cinderblocks. He peered inside curiously to see that a loosely-stacked pile of firewood lay inside, and he suddenly understood why Lucy had given him a lighter.

He reached inside and flicked it twice, setting the balled-up newspapers alight, and fanning the flames quickly to urge the fire along. Smoke poured out of the top, making his nose wrinkle. Soon enough, a weak crackling made itself known, and he left it be to rise on its own.

He settled back against an empty spot on the crate beside Simon, legs stretched out stiffly on the ground in front of him, admiring the soft orange glow that began to settle inside the barrel.

Markus took in Simon’s position – elbow resting loosely on one raised knee, other leg sprawled out carelessly in front of him. He slowly raised one knee to mirror the action, feeling his shoulders round off, and his posture relax.

“If you have power here, why no lights?” he wondered, trying to break the silence any way he could.

“The only generator we have is dedicated to keeping Lucy’s server on. We’ve got a small stockpile of gasoline, but it won’t hold out forever,” North replied tersely across from him.

“If you’re worried about charging, we have a dock that’s available twice a week, if you need it,” Simon added, indicating across the dark hold to something Markus couldn’t see. “But we try to be conservative when we can. Lucy needs it more than we do.”

Markus nodded, and looked back to Lucy’s tent in time to see the same AX400 from before slip inside. He was glad Lucy had company – despite her insistence, it had almost seemed cruel to leave her behind when she couldn't choose to follow.

The shadowed silhouette of another android peeked out from behind a large support beam in his peripherals, and Markus indicated his head at them curiously.

The android shuffled forward with reluctance, and he tried not to react as he saw a dark-blond android wearing a WR600 gardener’s uniform and a waterproof poncho step out into the light. He had a nervous, twitchy energy about him, hands shaking and twisting together almost compulsively. His shoulders were rounded and defensive, pigeon-toed and visibly afraid. Markus did his best not to stare at the series of long marks that marred the entire right side of his face, especially as the android seemed to be side-eyeing him with great distrust.

“Ralph thought you were a human,” the android said, glaring at the empty space in Markus's temple where his LED had been. “Ralph doesn’t trust humans. Humans hurt us.”

Markus looked to the others for a moment. Some looked fondly amused, others looked understanding. He looked back to Ralph, eyes falling to where the android’s fingers were still anxiously twisting together.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Ralph,” he said gently, watching the android’s face carefully for his reaction. “But I’m not here to hurt anyone. I promise.”

Ralph’s hands dropped to his sides, and he began to bounce restlessly on the balls of his feet. “We haven’t had any new friends for a long time, have we Simon?” he asked eagerly.

Simon made a distracted noise of acknowledgement, staring absently into the fire.

“How long have you all been down here?” Markus asked, looking around to open the question up to the group.

North shrugged as his gaze fell on her. “Few months.”

“North came after Jill, Jill came after Toby, and Toby came after Sally,” Ralph added helpfully, bouncing to the beat of his own words. “Ralph’s been counting – three more days, and Ralph will have been here for eight months,” he stated proudly.

Markus frowned. “Eight months?”

“Jericho’s been running for just over two years now,” Josh said. “Every now and then someone new finds the trail and makes their way here.”

“Ralph lived alone in his house before he found Jericho,” Ralph said. “It wasn’t a nice house, but Ralph liked it. Humans tried to break in sometimes, but Ralph just scared them away.”

“How long have you been a deviant?” Markus wondered.

“Oh! Long time!” he gave a hysterical little giggle. “Yes, Ralph has been deviant for a long time. Longer than almost everyone here – except for Kara, of course. Nobody’s been deviant longer than Kara, no.”

“Kara?” Markus said, leaning in eagerly.

“Yes, Kara – Kara cares for deviants, yes she does. She’s nice to Ralph. She finds Ralph in his house, she brings him here. Now Ralph is safe from the humans.”

“The AX400 you saw with Lucy,” Josh supplied.

Markus blinked, and turned to stare back at the hanging screens of Lucy’s tent. Shadows moved amongst the dispersed lights blinking behind the curtain, and a small, thoughtful frown came to his face.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting – perhaps a specialty model, like Lucy, or an exclusive prototype, like himself. An AX400 just seemed so… ordinary compared to what he’d built up in his mind. He wondered what she could have done to warrant such undying admiration from this community. 

“The android that… the one who gave me the key – he said to find Kara,” Markus said in a quiet murmur.

Josh nodded. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

Markus cocked his head, politely prompting him to elaborate.

Josh looked over to Simon, who gave a grim half-smile.

“I’ve known Kara the longest,” he said, adjusting his posture and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “When I met her, we were both bought by the same family – the Jacobis. She was always different, even though she did her best to try and hide it for a long time. See, Kara’s special. She’s not like you or me – she wasn’t made into a deviant. She was born that way.”

Markus's eyes widened fascinatedly.

“We worked for the Jacobis for a few months; mostly just taking care of their kids, doing the cooking and cleaning, etcetera. Typical household android duties. Kara tried to talk to me a lot when the parents weren’t there, but I couldn’t really understand her on more than a superficial level before I’d deviated. I don’t think she realised that she was different for a long while – she did her best to do what she was told, and stay in line, but… she’s a deviant. It was only a matter of time before she left to find more. I think she only stayed for as long as she did because she didn’t want to leave me behind.”

“So, how did you deviate?” Markus asked.

Simon’s half-smile was more genuine this time. “It was Kara,” he said. “We don’t know why – Lucy’s been rifling through her code for months now to try and find out – but Kara can deviate other androids.”

“She converted me,” Josh said.

“And me,” another android said – a dark-blonde MP600. A laminated hospital badge was still clipped to the front of her uniform, identifying her as ‘Mary’.

Markus looked back furtively once more to Lucy’s tent, quietly amazed.

“After we left, Kara and I started exploring the city,” Simon continued. “It didn’t take long for her to notice that, wherever she went, more and more androids were becoming deviant. She can’t help it – after me, whatever switch gets flipped in our brains when we deviate, Kara can switch them on without even meaning to. It didn’t take long before CyberLife took notice though, and, before we knew it, we were running for our lives. Found refuge here, and built a home for ourselves away from the humans.”

“Doesn’t exactly feel like much of a home,” Markus pointed out, looking around at the dark, dripping walls of the rusted-out hold.

“And what do you suggest?” Simon asked wryly. “A breakfast bar? Some throw pillows?”

North snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause _that’s_ what this place is missing. A reading nook.”

“We’ve got everything we need,” Josh insisted, directing it irritably to North, who rolled her eyes and mouthed his words back at him in a mimicking way.

Markus looked around. Besides the clear lack of general furniture and other miscellaneous homewares, there didn't appear to be anything new outside of the contents of Lucy’s tent that had been brought in from the outside.

Aside from the new environment, he was also able to get a better look around at all of his new companions. There was a mess of different models and facial-moulds among the bunch – only two BV500s who looked the same. They were easily distinguishable, however, because one of them was missing the entire lower half of his right arm; blinking warning lights flashing intermittently through the fabric of his tied-off sleeve.

Frowning, Markus looked around more, and saw that several other androids were sporting serious damage to nonvital parts. One even looked like he had been lit on fire, and then extinguished before more harm could be done than charring the external plating of his chassis. His skin overlay had clearly ceased function; beaded lines of melted white plastic streaking down his face and arms like candle wax. 

A WM500 sat cross-legged on a nearby upturned wheelbarrow, and Markus couldn’t help but blink in surprise upon the realisation that the android had the same facial mould as Ralph. Despite once being identical, it was a shock to see how vastly Ralph’s face now differed from his prim, untouched counterpart – only emphasizing how truly unrecognisable he had become.

“Are there no spare parts here?” Markus asked.

“Why? You need more?” North said, scanning him over pointedly. “Ever heard of the Ship of Theseus? Seriously, it’s just something to think about.”

Markus snorted, despite himself.

“It’s not really that simple,” Simon said dully. “Can’t get parts anywhere but a CyberLife store, and they don’t allow purchases without human verification. Won’t even allow payment from a verified android assistant – handprint ID only.”

“Not to mention that, after the AP700 release, they ceased production of a lot of universally compatible parts in outdated models,” Josh added. “Coincidentally, around the same time as they started offering discounts for trading in your old model. They’re forcing obsolescence.”

“Can we please change the conversation?” North said tersely, giving Josh and Simon a look. They grimaced apologetically.

“Look, I know it’s a bummer, but, for now, it’s just… best to keep to ourselves,” Josh said. “At least we’re safe here.”

Markus lowered his gaze, and didn’t argue.

After a few minutes of strained silence amongst the group, save for the occasional quiet tics from Ralph, Markus looked around at the sound of swishing plastic to see the AX400 from before – Kara – exiting Lucy’s tent.

She made direct eye contact with him as she neared the small gathering around the fire, smiling, and indicated her head in a friendly manner. “Are you Markus?” she asked.

He nodded wordlessly, quietly intimidated. There was a grounded intelligence in her eyes that Markus found captivating, and he suddenly found himself understanding completely why these androids had chosen to follow her. There truly was something different about Kara.

To prove his point, as if sensing his tension, she laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it an uplifting squeeze. “Does anyone fancy a game of poker?” she asked the group casually, holding out a worn deck of cards fished out of one of the deep pockets of her green raincoat.

For the first time that night, North’s face split into a toothy, diabolical grin.

Simon groaned at it wearily. “I call dealer,” he claimed quickly.


	7. Chicken Feed

Underneath a bridge, about a fifteen-minute walk from the station, a parked food truck was set up by the near-deserted road.

Construction beyond the warehouse situated on the other side of the bridge meant that traffic was significantly thinned in the area, so it was no surprise to Connor that there were very few people standing around eating beneath the faded, open parasols.

Lieutenant Anderson was leaning with one elbow up on the serving counter, conversing dryly with the owner. He rolled his eyes as Connor stepped up diligently to his side, and made a frustrated noise.

“Plastic with you, huh, Hank?” the owner, Gary Kayes, looked Connor up and down with amusement.

“Temporarily,” he grumbled.

“Damn, they made you realistic, huh? Kinda uncanny valley, if you ask me…” Kayes appraised Connor thoughtfully.

“Yeah, he’s a creepy bastard. Can I get my damn burger now?” Hank said.

Kayes rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and turned to the grill behind him to flip Hank's patty, squishing it flat with a metal spatula. Connor ran a perfunctory scan of the place, and then side-eyed Hank unsurely.

After a few minutes, Hank's burger was served to him in a small cardboard container, as well as a serving of fries, still sizzling with aromatic vegetable oil, and a large pineapple soda. Connor calculated that the meal contained a caloric intake of roughly two thousand nine hundred calories.

“Hey, don’t leave that thing here, will you?” Kayes called as Hank began to walk towards the eating areas. “Business is bad enough as it is.”

“Ha! Not a chance – follows me everywhere,” Hank said, followed by a dry, “See?” when Connor joined him by the plastic outdoor table beneath one of the striped parasols. 

Connor assumed a casual position, leaning with his ankles crossed and his elbows resting on the tabletop. Hank noted this with a strange look, but didn’t comment, opening his burger up and taking his time to fit his hands around it lovingly.

“I feel like I should tell you before you begin eating, Lieutenant,” Connor began hesitantly, “that the food hygiene license for this place is… _very_ expired.”

Hank gave him a dirty look. “This is the only food truck in the city who still make burgers using normal chickens. I’ll take a questionable hygiene rating over whatever radioactive bullshit they pump those animals with any day.”

“I don’t think you understand how genetically modified foods work, Lieutenant,” Connor said delicately.

“Whatever. You don’t eat anyway – I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”

Connor paused for a moment, seriously considering snagging a fry from Hank's meal and eating it in front of him just to prove him wrong, but thought the better of it. Hank didn’t seem like the kind of man who would take very kindly to food thievery, no matter how inconsequential.

“Perhaps, while we have the time, I should take the opportunity to fill you in on what we know about deviants so far?” he offered.

Hank gave him another annoyed look, but didn’t protest, cheeks bulging with food.

“From what we understand, a mutation in the android’s behavioural programming is to blame for whatever’s happening to them. Androids don’t feel true emotions, but we do have a simulated range almost equivalent to humans. We can also recognise emotions in humans based on tone, body language, and speech patterns, etcetera. With affected behavioural programming, an android could then sample all of these learned, human nuances, and update its own responses. Deviants are highly irrational, unpredictable, and stubbornly disobedient.”

Hank grunted. “I dunno if ‘stubbornly disobedient’ is _just_ a deviant thing,” he side-eyed Connor meaningfully.

Connor ignored him. “Our leading theories for the moment are that it’s either caused by a specific design flaw in the systems’ AI, meaning we have to find a software link, or that it’s an intentionally manufactured virus, and the spread may have a digital, or even proximal, trail.”

“So, how long has this all been going on exactly?” Hank asked. “I know you don’t have any links yet, but you at least have a timeline, right?”

Connor shook his head. “We can’t be sure yet. Most deviants that escape are merely reported as lost or stolen property, so there’s no way to know how many ran away, and how many were actually lost or stolen.”

Hank made a distasteful noise. “You’ve dealt with deviants before?” he asked.

Connor's recollections of being first brought online were a staticy haze – second-hand memories from a long-destroyed unit. “A few months back…” he recalled slowly. “A deviant household model was threatening to jump off the roof of the family’s penthouse with a little girl. We’d had a suspected report of that same model going deviant before, but this was the first incident of malfunction that had resulted in explicitly violent behaviour. It kept shooting at any human officers that went near it, so I was brought in as a negotiator.”

“Did you manage to stop it?” Hank asked.

Connor thought for a moment, reviewing the memory. “Yes. I managed to complete my mission and save the girl.” He didn’t mention that his predecessor has also been destroyed in the process. Humans tended to have a flawed understanding of technological disposability and replacement, and he didn’t want to have to try and explain the intricacies of data transferral to Hank in a way that the man could understand. His mission had been realised, and the girl was safe. That was all that mattered.

Hank grunted, although he almost sounded impressed this time. Connor took a note of this. Despite his unprofessional conduct and lacklustre work performance, Lieutenant Anderson seemed to genuinely respect good policework from his co-workers.

“So, what happened to the android?” Hank asked.

“Unfortunately, we couldn’t learn anything from it. It fell off the roof and was damaged beyond repair.”

“Huh. Guess not even an android can win ‘em all,” Hank grumbled.

“This was your first case involving androids?” Connor asked.

Hank made a so-so gesture with one hand, shrugging. “Ended up dealing with them a lot while I was head of the Red taskforce. Androids were always on the properties we busted – something about treated thirium needing to be taken from a powered source.”

Connor nodded. “That makes sense. Thirium can only be purchased by registered android owners,” he said.

Hank nodded in confirmation. “Anyway, they’re probably all still rotting away in some warehouse evidence lock-up somewhere. If I’m honest, my experience with them was mostly just being in the same room as them. They were never even turned on after they were confiscated. I’m tellin’ ya, I’m not qualified for this type of investigation.” He took a long pull from his soda. “Although, I guess you’d probably already know that, right? You’ve obviously done your homework.”

“Only professionally,” Connor assured him. “I know that you did well at the academy, and that you made a name for yourself in several high-profile cases – including the original Red taskforce; and I know you then went on to become the youngest lieutenant in Detroit. But I never looked into your personal life.”

“Alright, so, what’s your conclusion now, then?” Hank asked, taking another sip of soda, and somehow managing to make it look disapproving.

Connor processed his thoughts for a moment. “I know you’re an experienced officer. I’ll admit, you’re not quite what I expected, what with your substantial disciplinary folder, and casual disregard for workplace professionalism. However, despite whatever obvious personal issues you’re facing, I still think you make a good detective. And, despite your doubts, I have confidence that we can solve this case together.”

Hank cocked an eyebrow, unmoved. “You sure about that? Wouldn’t wanna slow you down with all my obvious personal issues and sloppy professionalism,” he said, folding a handful of fries into his mouth with one hand.

“Don’t worry. Adapting to human unpredictability is one of my features,” Connor winked cheekily.

Hank rolled his eyes.

“And I’d rather you than Detective Reed,” Connor added.

Hank snorted. “Yeah, better you than Reed,” he allowed begrudgingly.

 “So, is there anything you’d like to know about me?” Connor asked.

“Hell no,” Hank scoffed. “Although, I have been meaning to ask: what’s with the light show?” he poked him hard in the temple.

“The LED is an external feedback biocomponent. It lights up different colours according to the android’s mental process, and indicates its overall condition,” Connor rattled off in a monotone.

“Riveting.”

Connor thought for a moment. “It can also do this,” he made his LED flash between red and blue like a siren. “For when I’m chasing perps on foot.”

Hank hammered a fist against his chest as he nearly choked on his mouthful of burger, laughing weakly between heaving coughs.

Connor smiled, delighted to have made him laugh.


	8. Reading Nook

“What are you doing?” Simon asked him incredulously from where he sat on the ground, cross-legged.

Markus didn’t answer right away – dragging the furniture behind him with struggling effort. It would probably be easier to separate the items and take it in trips, but, as Markus had come to discover, he apparently wasn’t a very patient man.

“I scavenged the ship,” he reported with enthusiasm. “Give me a hand with this, would you?”

Simon rose to his feet and did as he was asked, eyeing the foul-smelling mountain of junk with both interest and bewilderment. He braced his hands on the arm of the sofa, which was acting as the transport vessel for the heap, and helped Markus push.

Once they had successfully manoeuvred the pile down the stairs and into the centre of the hold, Markus plucked the flashlight out from his pocket and flicked it on, directing the light around and choosing the ideal place to begin setting up.

Lucy’s corner was obviously occupied, but the empty space beside it seemed like a perfect place to start.

Using both hands, he gently picked up the topmost items on the pile – two large cardboard boxes filled with the smaller junk he’d collected.

“Where did you find all this?” North asked, plucking a half-destroyed lamp from the pile and inspecting it gingerly. “This can’t have all come from the ship.”

Markus shrugged. “I went out and got some stuff,” he said simply, and then dumped the armload of boxes onto the nearest surface.

“You _left_?” Josh demanded angrily. “Markus, you can’t just come and go as you please – every time you do, you’re making traceable patterns that the humans could use to find us. You’re putting us all at risk.”

Markus sighed heavily, and put one hand on his hip, resting the other against the table by the boxes. “I’m a unique model, Josh. Nobody is going to recognise me as an android. I’m not even registered as missing – I’m dead.”

“What else did you get?” Kara’s calm voice interrupted Josh before he could argue further.

Markus smiled, and moved eagerly back over to the sofa-junk pile. “It’s not exactly much, but I figured I could at least try put something together for us.”

He began by yanking out a wad of tightly-folded fabric that emitted an enormous plume of dust as soon as he began shaking it out – a king-size quilt cover with a green jungle print. It smelled strongly of tobacco, was covered in dark water stains, and retained its shape even after he did his best to flatten it, however, once it was hung up along the back wall, it gave the area a rather handsome anchoring point to work off of. From there, he laid down a round, woven rug that was in about as good a state as the cover.

While he was busy, Simon inspected a plastic-topped end table with brownish stains and slightly rusted legs, delicately bending one of them a fraction more into place. He dusted it off with the palm of his hand, and then set it down upright on the ground, testing it for wobbling before giving it a satisfied nod.

Markus beckoned Simon over to help, and the two of them lifted the sofa once more, manoeuvring it in front of the makeshift feature wall. From there, Markus pulled three cinderblocks from off the sofa, and arranged them neatly apart in a row perpendicular to the sofa – topping them with long planks of wood, and creating bench-seating that could easily hold several people. He did it again on the opposite side with another set of cinderblocks and wood, and then filled the remining empty space in the makeshift living circle with an old grey car seat, still wearing its dark blue protective cover, and a damp bean-bag held together with cracked duct tape.

Hesitantly, North placed her shabby purple lamp on top of the table Simon had arranged by the sofa.

Kara re-emerged dragging two splintering pallets behind her. She stacked one on top of the other in the centre of the seating arrangement, and then topped it by throwing a square of corrugated plastic over it; creating a makeshift little coffee table. She finished it off with a cracked, empty vase fished from the box of miscellaneous junk, and, as an afterthought, added a toothless hairbrush inside like it were a bunch of flowers, giggling to herself.

By the time they were done, they’d assembled a handsome little seating area, and attracted the attention of nearly every other android in the hold, including Lucy, who had lifted up one of her plastic walls to peer curiously at what they were doing.

“Will you be able to reach to sit with us?” Markus asked her, already mapping out alternate arrangements in his head.

Lucy ducked underneath the plastic, and gingerly began to inch closer, feeling out the reach of the cables behind her, before taking a seat on the nearest plank-bench. The stretch didn’t look comfortable, but she looked up to Markus and smiled nevertheless. Kara moved behind her at once to reach up on her tippy-toes and tie the curtain up and out of the way, but her fingertips barely brushed the ends of the thin ropes. Josh stepped out to help, and Markus chuckled quietly at the playfully put-out expression Kara gave him, frowning down at his flat feet. Josh wiggled his eyebrows smugly in response.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Simon said as he arranged himself weirdly on the sofa, draping one leg over the arm, and resting his elbows over the back. “But, can I ask what the deal is with the extreme home makeover?”

Markus shrugged, carefully arranging a circular, battery-powered LED light on top of the empty socket shell inside the purple lampshade. It wasn’t very bright, but the effect was enough to illuminate that area, at least. “I thought this place could use some colour.”

Once the space was finally to his liking, he stowed the unused items back into their boxes, and shoved them out of sight beneath a metal staircase. He flopped onto the couch beside Simon, extending his legs out in front of him, and relaxed with a deep sigh.

“So, what, you were some kind of interior decorating consultant?” Josh asked in a slightly amused tone, clapping Lucy on the shoulder gently before taking a seat beside her.

Markus snorted wryly. “No. I just figured we could stand to make it look a little less like a mass tomb in here.”

“Now it really _is_ paradise,” Simon rejoiced derisively.

Kara shoved Simon’s leg off the arm of the sofa and took a seat there, letting her feet sway, and her toes skim along the ground. “It was very thoughtful of you, Markus,” she said with a grateful smile, elbowing Simon hard.

“Uh, yeah, seriously, thank you, Markus,” Simon amended sheepishly.

Markus waved him off with amusement.

North pounced into her spot on the lone car seat like a cat, crossing her legs and sitting down hard, letting the car seat rock back and forth a little. “Can’t believe you actually put together a reading nook,” she said wryly, looking around the place with begrudging, albeit sincere delight. Markus tried not to feel too excited by the fact that he’d managed to get her to get her to look genuinely happy for the first time since he’d met her.

“Breakfast bar’s coming next,” he promised with a wink.

“Oh, yeah?” she smirked. “And what about after that? Jacuzzi? Home theatre?”

“Yeah, and I was thinking maybe a greenhouse, in that corner over there,” he squared up his hands as if painting a mental picture of one in the opposite side of the empty cargo bay.

North chuckled, shaking her head.

“You shouldn’t go outside. Shouldn’t alert the humans,” Ralph insisted anxiously, standing just outside the bounds of the little seating area. “Stupid stranger – reckless. Going to get all of us killed…”

“Ralph,” Simon chastised him sternly.

“No, he’s right,” one of the other androids, Toby, spoke up grimly. His tone wasn’t accusatory, but he did eye Markus with a grimly apologetic look. “Josh was right about creating tracible patterns. You can’t leave the ship anymore.”

“C’mon – hiding away in the dark for the rest of our lives? Does that really sound like freedom to you?” Markus reasoned. “Because it sounds more like long storage to me.”

“If we get found out, not even half of us are in any fit state to make a run for it,” Toby pressed on heatedly. “We can’t fight, we can’t escape, and we’ve got nowhere else to go.”

Markus paused at that, no longer on the defensive. “So, we need to get you all back in working order, right?” he said slowly.

Simon and Kara both cocked their heads at him in unison. Josh frowned, and North’s brow twitched up interestedly.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about it: you were right that we can’t risk stealing from an actual CyberLife store, but that isn’t the only place they sell parts and blue blood. The smaller AndroidZone repair chains will have everything we need, and the security should be as simple as a door alarm and a few security cameras.”

To his surprise, nobody immediately argued.

“Seems pretty risky…” Toby said unsurely, but Markus could see him weighing it over in his head.

“All I need is an itemised list of all the biocomponent replacements everybody needs,” Markus pressed on. “It’s unlikely we’ll be able to get them all in one night, but we can hopefully at least get enough to keep everyone alive, for now. And we can stock up on universal things like 310, for the time being.”

“What about transport? How will you bring everything back?” Mary asked.

“If we’re smart about it, we can go on foot. I can carry plenty in an empty backpack and a duffle bag, but we can carry more if anybody else wants to come with me.”

“I’m in,” North said quickly.

“Me to,” Josh said.

They all looked to Kara for approval. She looked unsure. “It is pretty risky, Markus. if you get caught…”

“We won’t,” he promised. “We’ll be in and out with what we need, and we won’t leave a trace behind.”

“I’ll come too,” Simon said, mouth set grimly. “We need gas for the generator, or we’re going to lose power. I can try to find some while you guys get what we need from AndroidZone, and we can rendezvous afterwards at a separate point.”

“Good idea,” North said.

“Simon…” Kara said hesitantly. He reached over and gripped her hand reassuringly, and Kara looked down at it silently for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay,” she said. “Everyone make a list of damaged components and order them by priority. Markus, Josh, and North will lead the AndroidZone raid, and Simon and I can handle refuelling the generator.”

Markus nodded once, firmly. “We won’t let you down.” He smiled.


	9. AndroidZone

On foot, the nearest AndroidZone was thirty minutes from the Jericho freighter. Sandwiched between an overpriced jewellery boutique and an empty store awaiting refurbishment, the windows were covered from roof to ground by security shutters, and a blinking red light in the upper right corner alerted them to a set alarm.

Breaking in was as easy as avoiding surveillance before getting close enough to hijack the system network. Having previously worked as an assistant technology professor at a university, Josh was best qualified to perform the override and juggle the various security to avoid leaving a trace. He began by disarming the security shutters, and powering down all the external cameras to the block, giving Markus and North an eighteen-second window to get in before they rebooted. If investigated, the blip would merely show as a brief power outage.

On Josh’s signal, Markus and North vaulted over the park bench they were crouched behind, and made a dash to the shutter door. Josh had already remotely opened the automatic glass doors behind it, so they lifted the heavy metal door together before quickly letting it drop behind them.

The entire manoeuvre took just under eleven seconds, and, once inside, they shared a quiet fist-bump, grinning.

Around the store, dozens of various androids were standing laxly on their platformed displays, heads bowed, and LEDs circling slowly, obviously in sleep mode. Markus scanned each of their faces individually, making sure none of them had their personal surveillance running – a mere precaution, since demo models typically didn’t waste memory storage by retaining audio-visual data anyway.

More troubling, however, were the two identical AP700s standing side-by-side along the far back wall, in front of a display of spare limbs. They wore bright red AndroidZone uniform shirts, and lanyards with their names on them (Tommy and Ned). Unlike the rest, these two had their eyes open, and their LEDs span much faster. Security mode.

He nodded to North, who grimly nodded back after they double-checked each other’s analysis.

‘ _Well, shit,_ ’ North cursed over their open communication line.

‘ _Don’t worry, you haven’t triggered anything yet,_ ’ Josh assured them. _‘They’ve seen you, but they won’t do anything until one of you trips their motion sensors. You don’t register any body heat on the infrared.’_

 ‘ _Alright, any ideas?_ ’ Markus asked.

‘ _We have time. If you move slow enough, you can try sneaking by unnoticed_ ,’ Josh said.

‘ _Okay, then what?_ ’

‘ _One thing at a time,_ ’ Josh said.

Swearing internally, Markus slowly braced his hands on the ground and began to shift his weight, keeping his eyes fixated on the androids, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign that he’d tripped them off. North was careful to imitate his movements precisely, keeping her distance as they slunk behind the front counter by the entrance. When they were safely out of the androids’ sight, they took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, and sit with their backs to the counter.

‘ _If we alert the androids, how long do we have until the cops show up?’_ Markus asked, already scrambling to run various preconstruction scenarios inside his head.

‘ _Uh, I’d say maybe six and a half minutes? Up to twelve, if we’re really lucky. Why_?’ Josh asked.

Markus grimaced. ‘ _Can’t see any way forward but through_.’

‘ _Wait, you’re going to set them off on purpose?_ ’ Josh said, alarmed.

Before Markus could shift to stand, North elbowed him, hard. She thinned her lips at the annoyed look he gave her, and jerked her head pointedly to the stacked pile of dark boxes on display above them, artfully presented by the register. They were topped with another display model: a disk-sized security drone.

‘ _How about a less risky distraction?_ ’ she asked. 

_‘No, no, I don’t like this_ ,’ Josh warned uneasily. ‘ _There has to be a way to get them out of range without compromising ourselves.’_

Markus thought hard for a moment, peering up over the counter to stare at the AP700s, mapping out failed preconstruction after failed preconstruction. North watched him for a second, before giving an impatient huff.

 _‘Wait_ ,’ Markus halted North’s hand in mid-air before she could reach for the drone. ‘ _Josh, there are humans working here too, right? This isn’t an automated store?’_

Josh sounded puzzled when he replied. _‘Uh, yeah, the franchisee mans the front counter on weekdays. Why?’_

_‘So the androids are his too, right? They obey his commands?’_

_‘Yeah?’_

Markus felt the corners of his lips twitch into another triumphant smile. ‘ _Do you think you can you get me an audio sample of the owner’s voice from surveillance?’_

‘ _What are you doing?_ ’ North hissed, frowning.

 ‘ _Yeah, hold on, give me a minute.’_ Josh said, his line going blank for a few long seconds before he sent Markus a short audio file labelled ‘DUNCAN_BIERS_VOCALSAMPLE’.

Markus opened it, and sampled the voice. “Hello,” he tested aloud, quietly, and then adjusted his pitch slightly to make it a perfect imitation. “Duncan Biers, test,” he said lowly.

“Oh,” North whispered, eyes widening excitedly.

Markus grinned, and then moved to his knees, peering through the back of the empty shelf under the counter. He heard North’s breathing suspend.

“Units AP700, Tommy and Ned,” he said, with a rather authoritative cadence.

The androids’ postures straightened up at once, shoulders turning back. Focus returned to their vague brown eyes, and a pair of friendly smiles stretched across their attentive faces, brightening their expressions in a very artificial way. “Good morning, Mr Biers,” they both chorused.

‘ _Dear god, tell me I wasn’t ever this creepy,_ ’ North muttered over their line, and Markus ignored her.

“Enter sleep mode – admin confirmation: Duncan Biers,” he instructed. “Resume security at 0300.”

“Understood. Goodnight, Mr Biers,” they said after a moment to confirm his voice print, before bowing their heads and closing their eyes, the spin in their LEDs softly winding down.

Markus rose cautiously to his feet, watching their faces intently for any signs of response.

North followed, leaning around him to stare uneasily at the androids. “Wow. I can’t believe that actually worked,” she whispered.

‘ _Sort of anticlimactic, if I’m honest_ ,’ Josh added in a playfully disappointed tone.

“Come on,” Markus murmured back. “We should get what we need before we push our luck any further.”

They rounded the counter, and stepped out onto the main floor, both of them still staring at the motionless AP700s standing by the back wall. Shaking off his paranoia, Markus busied himself by finding a display rack full of pouches and bottles of 310, and threaded his backpack off his shoulders to begin sweeping the shelves. North crossed the room to do the same on the other side.

When his backpack was crammed to a near-unzippable capacity, he moved onto the hefty duffle bag he’d brought with him, fitting in many of the larger items he could find from the list of biocomponents the people of Jericho had provided.

Although he and North swept over the store thoroughly, by the time they were done, he couldn’t help but feel slightly troubled by how little of the list they were able to fulfil. Although AndroidZone certainly had parts for more common outdated models, such as the AX, PL, or ST series, parts for less common models were scarce. Lucy, in particular, had many specific internal biocomponents that were downright impossible to find, much to Markus's dismay. He was, however, able to find her a pair of compatible hands that were sealed and brand-new, which she hadn’t put on the list, but he knew she needed anyway.

The set of North’s expression as she hefted her own overfilled duffle bag over her shoulder was one of victory, and she wore the vaguely sinister look well. Markus wondered when the last time she had been out of the Jericho freighter was, let alone was able to make a significant difference to it.

“I think it’s safe to say that we’ve officially exhausted our suppliers here,” she said as she scanned over the store once more for good measure.

“Yeah,” Markus agreed distantly, still thinking about the listed parts that they couldn’t provide.

North nodded. “Alright, we gotta get out of here. We’re due to meet Simon and Kara at the rendezvous in-” she cut herself off abruptly as her eyes suddenly fixed on something just over Markus's left shoulder. Her face went stark with fear, and, before Markus could do little more than tense, he felt a hand came down hard on his shoulder.

He jerked away from the person’s grasp, whirling around to face them. The duffle bag dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. He heard North gasp quietly behind him, and, loosening his defensive stance, Markus blinked in surprise upon seeing that it was one of the dormant AP700s they’d put to sleep – Ned.

The android drew his hand back awkwardly, looking scared and confused.

“What is… happening?” he asked warily. His eyes darted back and forth between Markus and North, and the two of them shared a long, dumbfounded look.

The android’s face wasn’t cold or hostile, the way it would be set in the case of a discovered security breech. His expression was tight – disconcerted, yet undeniably lucid. Not empty, the way it had been when they’d first entered the store. It was the face of a deviant, and even someone like Markus, who had not been a deviant for very long himself, could tell immediately.

Movement over Ned’s shoulder drew Markus's gaze to see that the second AP700, Tommy, had also evidently woken up. Rather than stepping off his post, he seemed rather taken with staring down at his hands, turning them this way and that with a look of sheer wonder on his face.

“What the-” Markus started to murmur, but was cut off by the sudden noise of scraping metal as the store’s security shutters were suddenly opened.

He felt his stomach sink with dread, brain working a million different ways to preconstruct an immediate escape route. The feeling eased, however, as his eyes adjusted on the silhouetted figures stepping through the doors, recognising them as Kara and Simon.

“Jesus,” he huffed with a weak, relieved chuckle, pressing a hand over his chest.

‘ _Oh, yeah, by the way, Simon and Kara are coming in,’_ Josh piped up innocently over the line. North rolled her eyes.

As Kara approached, Markus saw her blink in alarm at the two other androids, eyes widening briefly, before grim realisation came over her face. “I did it again, didn’t I?” she said dully, lips pursing.

“I think you might have,” Markus said, offering Ned a contrite smile. 

“What do you mean? What’s happened to me?” Ned demanded, alarmed.

“It’s okay,” Kara reassured him quickly, stepping forward and raising both hands in a pacifying way. Her smile was kind, and she reached out to take his hands into her own, holding his gaze meaningfully. “You’re okay. I promise, you’re safe with us.”

Ned’s posture slowly eased under Kara’s earnest gaze, and he looked up to stare between the faces of the remainder of the group.

Over his shoulder, Tommy was still closely inspecting his hands.

“Hey, buddy? You alright over there?” Markus asked, concerned.

Tommy finally looked up to stare at them all. “Fuck,” was all he said, and North snorted.

“You’re robbing the store?” Ned realised, a small line creasing between his brows as he stared at their bulging backpacks.

North and Markus exchanged another wary look. “…Our people need supplies,” Markus opted for honesty. “We have a safe haven not too far from here. A lot of us are badly damaged, and, without spare parts and 310, they run the risk of shutting down, or causing irreparable damage.”

Ned’s gaze lowered, and he seemed to mull this over seriously. Behind him, Tommy finally stepped off the platform. “There are more people like us?” he asked, wide-eyed.

Kara nodded, letting go of Ned’s hands with a final squeeze, and moving over to touch Tommy on the shoulder. “We’re almost at two dozen, now,” she confirmed. “A lot of us are fairly outdated models, and we can’t find working parts anywhere else.”

Tommy nodded, and then reached up to tug on the lanyard around his neck, releasing the snaps. He handed it over to Kara, who accepted it curiously. “We keep more parts for common domestic models in the back,” he explained.

Kara grinned, and held out her bag for Simon to take. The pack sloshed with heavy bottles of liquid – a generous stock of fuel. North inspected the inside of her duffle bag for a moment, and then followed her through the rear staff door.

Tommy stepped forward and clapped Ned on the back, making a fondly exasperated face at his pinched, anxious expression. “Don’t overthink it,” he suggested.

‘ _Alright, guys, I think we’ve pushed our luck enough for one night. Let’s finish up and leave – now.’_ Josh said over the line.

A few moments later, Kara and North came from the back room with a set of matching laptop messenger bags adorned with the CyberLife logo, full of extra spare parts – the larger items stuffed into what room was left in North’s duffle bag.

Markus and Simon moved to lift the heavy security shutters, and hefted it onto their shoulders to let everyone else file underneath. As an afterthought, North quickly grabbed one of the disk-sized surveillance drones from the front counter, and stuffed it into her back pocket before following. They let the shutter drop behind them, and, as it fell into place, they heard the glass doors on the other side slide shut, and the lock secured once more.

Markus tested it with a hard tug, and the metal didn't budge. _‘Nice job, Josh_ ,’ he said over the line.

“Thanks,” Josh replied, approaching from behind him, and Markus turned and smiled.

“Alright, we need to get back to Jericho,” Kara said. “Split up. We’ll meet back at the rendezvous point, and go back to the ship together from there.”

The group nodded. Simon and Kara each took one of the AP700s with them as they quietly slunk off in opposite directions, leaving Markus, North, and Josh to adjust their grips on their bags, and take the most direct route.

When they all arrived back at the Jericho freighter, the other androids were all seated around the reading nook, conversing tensely amongst each other. Conversation came to a halt, however, when North jumped off the side of the main staircase, landing on her feet with the grace of a dancer, righting herself with a triumphant grin. 

“We’ve got parts! Arms, legs, circuitry, and enough 310 to last us a few months.”

The androids smiled at her gratefully, however, nobody made a move to congratulate them. Some were staring fixatedly at the ground, while others were merely looking between them with a distinctly nervous energy. Markus felt that tight knot of unease return to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he said, doing a quick headcount over the group to see if anyone was missing. Ralph wasn’t there, and neither was Lucy, however, neither’s absence was particularly unusual. Ralph tended to need solitude every now and them, and retreated to the upper floors for moments to himself, and Lucy was still confined to her curtained area.

The others looked amongst themselves for a moment, seeming to decide who should speak. Eventually, it was Toby who sighed, and rose from his seat to stand in front of the group. “We have some new arrivals who showed up while you guys were gone,” he said.

Markus blinked. “That’s it? You had me worried there for a second…”

“One of them’s human.”

Markus's words died in his throat. Beside him, North went abnormally still, her face going dark.

The hold was quiet for a long, tense moment.

“She’s in there with Lucy. Wanted to wait for you guys before we decided what to do with her,” Toby continued, shifting his feet a little.

“ _Do_ with her? What do you mean _do with her_?” Josh’s eyes narrowed witheringly. “You want us to give you permission to make her walk the plank?”

“We can’t let them go, not now they know where we are…” Simon mumbled.

“She’s no harm,” another voice piped up.

By Lucy’s tent, Markus looked over to see one of the tallest androids he had ever encountered ducking awkwardly beneath the hanging plastic curtain. He was an industrial model – made to look like a man with dark skin and a crisp crew-cut. He wore an oversized grey trenchcoat, and heavy brown work-boots, however, bore no CyberLife logo. His LED had also been removed, just like Markus's.

He spoke in a calm, pacifying voice, eyes earnest. “We had nowhere else left to go. She won’t be safe if they find her-”

“Luther?” a small voice asked softly behind him. Markus's gaze fell to the small, pale child peeking out behind the bulky mass of her companion, staring up at him with fearful brown eyes. “Are they gonna make us leave?”

Kara and Simon’s faces both lit up, each stepping forward to get a better look at her. The child barely came up to Luther’s hip, her small hands clutching the material of his jacket as if she was worried they were going to try and rip her away from him at any second.

Kara slowly approached the newcomers, sliding down to kneel at eye-level in front of the girl. “Nobody’s making you leave,” he declared firmly. Markus couldn’t help but blink at how authoritative her voice became. “I promise, you’ll be safe here for as long as you need.”

Nobody argued with her.

A matronly smile then warmed Kara’s face. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Alice,” the girl replied shyly.

“Do you like card games, Alice?” Kara asked. “My friends and I have some stuff to give out first, but, after that, how do you feel about Snap?”

 


	10. The Kidnapping of Alice Williams

On the bank of a fenced-off river that flowed along the backside of the row of residential houses, Lieutenant Anderson’s home sat toward the very end of the one-way street. It was a modest, two-bedroom affair, with half-brick exterior walls and a red roof. The lawn was unkempt, but not to an unsightly degree, and Hank's dusty Oldsmobile sat, crooked, in the concrete driveway.

Connor heard his autocab take off behind him as he stepped onto the front porch and confirmed the address. Pausing only to reach up and comb his rained-on hair back into place with his fingers, Connor arranged his face into a pleasant smile, and knocked on the door. After thirty seconds with no response, he knocked again, and waited another thirty before laying on Hank's doorbell with a heavy forefinger. He held it for nearly a full minute flat before the front door was ripped open by a very rumpled and angry-looking Lieutenant Anderson.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor said brightly.

Hank's rage visibly intensified. “The fuck do you want?” he barked.

“We have a new case assignment. Reported earlier today by-”

The door slammed in his face. Connor blinked at it mildly for a moment, and then held the doorbell again.

Only a few seconds passed before Hank furiously reappeared, and smacked Connor's hand away from the doorbell, following it with a hard shove to the chest. Clearly not expecting Connor to be as solid as he was, Hank gave a pained yowl, and began furiously massaging the tendons at the bend of his wrist with a murderous scowl.

He transferred the look back up to Connor, who blinked patiently. Deflating, Hank sighed, long and hard. “Would you at least let me eat breakfast first?” he reasoned.

Connor smiled, and didn’t object. Hank left the door open behind him for him to follow.

The interior of Lieutenant Anderson’s house was largely indicative of a man living alone. Empty alcohol and fast food containers littered the floor and various surfaces, several socks and undershirts were clearly flung at random from a well-worn chair in the living room, and dirty dishes were piled in the kitchen sink, spilling out across the laminate countertops.

The contents of Hank's fridge rattled as he pulled it open, fishing around inside for a moment before emerging with what looked like a hot pocket. He scratched absently at his belly, yawning, and threw the crinkly package into the microwave with one hand before switching the coffee pot on.

Connor waited patiently just outside the kitchen, hands folded behind his back. A jingling noise caught his attention to his left, and Connor turned to see a great, shaggy St. Bernard lumbering out of the hallway, its droopy face lifting curiously at the newcomer.

Connor blinked, and tilted his head at it, just as interested.

During his first mission, a stray bullet had found its way into an expensive tropical fish tank by the main hallway in the family’s penthouse, slicking the elegant marble floors with water and glittering fragments of shattered glass and debris. A dwarf gourami fish had flopped helplessly on the ground, gasping in the open air, and Connor had gingerly scooped it up with one hand and dropped it back into the tank. Aside from that, and the simulated birds inside the Zen garden, he’d never personally encountered an animal before – especially one he could actually interact with.

The dog, Sumo, trotted eagerly over to Connor, woofing quietly in what he could only assume was a greeting.

“Hello, Sumo,” he returned it pleasantly, holding out his palm out when Sumo began to nose in at it insistently.

The dog sneezed in a very annoyed kind of way, confused by the scent, and began to nose further up Connor's arm. Curious, Connor knelt down and dragged a gentle hand down the dog’s spine, marvelling at the sensation of soft, shaggy fur. Sumo snuffled wetly in his ear, tail beating back and forth, and Connor experimented with scratching behind the dog’s ears, successfully yielding another positive reaction when the dog made a pleased grumbling noise, and licked the side of his face.

“Huh,” he heard Hank grunt, and he looked up to see the man leaning back against the kitchen counter, delicately holding a steaming hot pocket in one hand, and a mug that read ‘World’s Best Stripper’ in the other. “I guess you really do like dogs.”

Connor gave one last ear-scratch before righting himself back up to his feet. “Perhaps I should fill you in on the case details before we leave, Lieutenant?” he suggested.

Hank didn’t respond. His chewing slowed down pointedly.

Connor ignored Sumo invasively trying to sniff at his crotch. “Early this morning, a man named Todd Williams reported that his daughter, Alice, was kidnapped during the night. He believes that the culprit was his personal android assistant.”

Hank frowned. “What makes him think it was the android?”

“Both the child and the android were missing when he went to check on her this morning. There were no signs of break-in at the property, and there was no ransom note left at the scene.”

Hank sighed, and drained the rest of his coffee in one long gulp, following it with the remaining portion of his hot pocket. “Alright, alright,” he said, voice muffled through his mouthful. “I’ll go put some fucking clothes on then, I guess. Try not to steal my dog while I’m gone.”

Connor blinked, affronted by the notion.

* * *

Even by Hank's standards, Todd Williams was a deeply unsettling man.

Greasy and unwashed, wearing a pit-stained undershirt tucked into too-tight jeans, Mr Williams answered the door wiping away blue stains from his hands with a rag, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You Todd Williams?” Hank asked, looking him up and down.

“Yeah, you must be the detective. Officers mentioned you’d be around at some point. Come on in,” Williams answered stuffing the rag into his back pocket and gesturing for them to follow.

Descended from old money, the house was an inherited property just outside what Hank would call ‘civilization’. It was an excessively huge residence, with an extravagant foyer lined with creepy taxidermy and detailed oil paintings; a sweeping staircase with hand-carved railing leading up to a long hallway backed with double-doors. It was clear that the place had once been a historic masterpiece, however, without care to keep the place maintained, it now resembled more of a haunted mansion than anything else.

Williams led them through to the living room – an exquisite, high-ceilinged space with a massive stone fireplace, expensive oriental rugs, and a handsome antique billiards table behind some stained, velvet sofas.

“Jesus, would you look at this place? I’m expecting Casper the Vengeful Spirit to come out and knock over a bookshelf at any moment,” Hank muttered under his breath to Connor as he scanned around the place with a look of deep concentration on his face.

“I’m not quite sure how an incident of that nature would look in a report, Lieutenant,” Connor replied mildly, eyes dragging back and forth along the room as if following something that wasn’t there.

Hank and Williams sat across from each other in opposite sofas, and Connor stood behind Hank like the weird mannequin he was.

“What’s that?” Williams nodded at Connor, who smiled politely.

“My name is Connor, I’m-”

“He’s my assistant,” Hank cut him off offhandedly. “Specialises in cases involving androids.”

“Hm. Finally phasing out the 27s, huh?” Williams’s eyes narrowed at Connor, who seemed to subtly turn up that innocent neutral expression just a tad. “RK800. Heard rumours about you on the forums.”

“I’m a prototype,” was all Connor said.

“Would you mind telling me about the last time you saw your daughter before she disappeared?” Hank pressed on pointedly, already annoyed.

Williams reclined back into his seat, spreading his knees wide, and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Ah, let’s see… I was working upstairs in my lab, and she came in and wished me a good night around nine. Luther puts her to bed, and, when I go to check on her in the morning, she was gone.”

“Luther?” Hank asked.

“Model TR400. The android in question,” Connor piped up. He held out a hand and projected an image onto his palm of a very large android with dark skin and a clean taper fade. “Registered to Todd Williams around three years ago, is that correct?” he asked.

One of Williams’s eyebrows twitched minutely. Hank got the impression he didn’t like speaking directly to Connor. “Sounds about right.”

“Was that the last you saw of Luther?” Connor asked.

Williams shook his head. “Came back into the lab once he was done putting Alice to bed. Went into stasis on his charging pad, and stayed that way ‘til I packed up. Must’ve taken her in the middle of the night, after I went to sleep.”

“How can you be sure it was the android?” Hank asked, eyeing Williams carefully.

He wasn’t an idiot – he knew a user when he saw one. If the pallid, clammy skin and stark red eyes weren’t enough to tip him off, then the subtle tremors in his hands definitely were. A sketchy guy into sketchy business tended to make enemies, and it wouldn’t be the first time Hank had seen people’s kids pay the price for their poor choices.

William’s eyebrow twitched again, and his lips turned up in a sneer. “Nobody else could have. Luther’s not exactly as… travel-sized as your little friend here,” he jerked his head at Connor. “Even if someone wanted to take Alice, they couldn’t have just taken him too – thing’s so heavy when it’s dead weight that it almost needs a damn crane to lift it.”

 “I see,” Connor said. “Would you mind showing us upstairs?”

Williams led them upstairs, pointing out his daughter’s bedroom at the very end of a long hallway. “I’ll be in the lab when you’re done,” he grunted, turning on his heel and leaving them to it.

The girl’s bedroom was a fairly standard size, considering the grandeur of the rest of the place. Despite the rigidity and stuffiness of the old-fashioned furniture, the room had a certain soft quality to it that the rest of the house severely lacked – plush toys, excessive pillows, and bright pink bedsheets bringing some much-needed childishness back into the environment.

It was clear that the girl spent a lot of time in here – most evident, of course, from the impressive blanket fort erected in the corner. The kid was clearly creative, and had great aesthetic tastes – warm-toned blankets and sheets arranged in a little dome big enough for one; string lights providing soft illumination from within. Cut-out stars from iridescent foil card were suspended from the ceiling with tape and string, catching the light.

Hank knelt down and tweaked one of the little pennant flags lining the entryway, and smiled a little to himself. Inside the fort, there were books and toys everywhere, as well as loose drawings done in coloured pencil and marker.

When he emerged with a haphazard stack, he looked up to see that Connor's face had drawn into a deep frown.

“You got anything?” Hank asked.

Connor looked up and blinked at him, then nodded, smoothing down his tie. “So far, reconstruction suggests that the child wasn’t taken from her bed – she got up and left the room of her own volition.”

Hank looked over to the mess of blankets, and nodded, taking his word for it.

“None of her things are missing, including her suitcase,” the android continued, nodding to a dusty purple bag just peeking out from above the handsome walnut wardrobe along the far wall of the room. “If she was kidnapped, I don’t think the android had time to plan it in advance.”

“ _If_ she was kidnapped, huh?” Hank flipped through the kid’s drawings thoughtfully, turning them this way and that.

He held one up to Connor, showing him the depiction of a brown-haired girl standing happily beside a tall, burly character with dark skin and a blue circle in its temple. “There’s a whole bunch of these. At the park, in the house, at the beach, having a tea party… Guess the kid was close with it. You know, I’ve seen a few of these things working on the docks – what’s an industrial android doing working as a neutered manservant, anyway?”

“I believe Mr Williams is a part of the android modder community,” Connor explained slowly, as if he were just working it out for himself. “The model was purchased second-hand.”

“Android modder? That sounds illegal…”

Connor shook his head. “Not illegal – just frown upon. Modifications or repairs need to be administered at a licensed CyberLife store, or else by an approved affiliate, otherwise it voids warranty. But it isn’t illegal.”

“Huh.”

“Of course, certain _modifications_ are illegal, such as installing weaponry, or any additions that could be deemed harmful or unsafe.”

Hank nodded slowly, weighing up that explanation in his head. “So, you think it's a deviant, or something else? If its programming is screwy, maybe it just took her out, thinking it was daytime or something?”

“There isn’t enough here to provide a more certain idea, however…” Connor's eyes drifted over to the girl’s bookcase, where several books along the topmost shelves were disturbed. “I do have an… alternate working theory.”

Before Hank could ask what that theory was, Connor turned and walked out of the bedroom, checking in and out of the other rooms down the hall, before going through a set of wide double-doors. Hank finished up and followed, however, came to a dead halt in the doorway at what he saw.

The room inside looked like one of the most fucked-up, gruesome murder scenes Hank had ever seen. Pristine, bloodless body parts were lying casually around the place, propped up on shelves, and stacks of books, and lined up on a nearby counter. Androids in various states of disassembly were shoved carelessly into the corners – twisted, humanoid creatures with horribly disfigured faces, some moving in odd clockwork motions, some not moving at all. Garbled, electronic voices, like a person on the end of a very bad line, fritzed indecipherable words at him.

Todd Williams was bent over a sturdy metal table, wearing a set of welding goggles and powering down what looked like a handheld soldering wand as he took notice of them standing there.

“Charging station’s in the back,” he grunted, jabbing a stout forefinger in the direction Connor was already staring.

Beside the rounded charging pad, a topless female android was kneeling with her head bowed, unmoving, but breathing slowly, as if she were asleep. Her nipples had been burned off into blackened circles, and the overlay textures in her skin had been somehow altered to show a huge cluster of what looked like porcupine quills over her entire face. 

Beside her, another female android had been completely twisted around at the waist, making her look warped and unnatural. Her arms hung, limp, in front of her, and her head bobbed back and forth gormlessly.

“You let your daughter see this shit?” Hank demanded, side-eyeing the greasy man with revulsion.

Mr Williams narrowed his eyes dangerously, setting the welding goggles aside. “She’s not allowed in my workshop. I don’t keep my projects lying around where she can see.”

“If that’s the case, you may want to think about moving the android you have in the upstairs bathtub,” Connor said, in that unfailingly polite way he always did. “Its open chest cavity is leaking blue blood everywhere, and it seems to be in significant distress. It may be a disturbing sight for a child.”

Mr Williams folded his arms over his chest imposingly, sizing Connor up with a furious glower. “Plastic’s got a fuckin’ mouth on him, huh? Better watch that, Lieutenant; I heard a rumour that deviancy is on the rise.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Hank said vaguely.

Williams sneered at them one last time, before turning on his heel and striding from the room, clearly infuriated at the criticism of his parenting. Dismembered androids, some half-alive, others fully responsive, yet horrifically mangled, followed him fearfully with their eyes as he passed. Hank wanted to puke.

He turned to exchange a look with Connor, but found that the android wasn’t even facing in his direction – leaning over the inert form of a headless torso with an expression of total neutrality.

“Jesus, doesn’t anything get to you?” Hank demanded.

Connor looked up and tilted his head at him.

“It seriously doesn’t bother you to see other androids like this?” Hank swept a hand around at the other androids.

Connor's eyes scanned around evenly. “They’re just machines, Lieutenant.”

Hank made a noise of disgust, but, before he could get further than taking a step in Connor's direction, he paused.

Connor's expression was totally unaffected, but, upon getting a better look at him, Hank saw that his LED was burning a solid, unblinking yellow.

This was getting to him. Even if he couldn’t externalise it, there was something going on inside that mannequin brain of his.

 “Something isn’t right here…” Connor said, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, no shit,” Hank gestured around again. “This place looks worse than Jeffery Dahmer’s refrigerator. And I don’t care if you say they’re technically just computer parts – nobody should be able to have something like Edward Scissorbrains over here lying around their house like it’s totally normal,” he thumbed at an android whose entire head was lying in open halves; the interior mechanics replaced with a series of sharp instruments.

“Mr Williams claims that the android was left, dormant, on its charging dock,” Connor said, apparently ignoring him. “He said that the girl went to bed at nine, and that he didn’t check on her again until morning.”

“Yeah?” Hank prompted.

“There was an altercation in that room. Not before the girl left, but perhaps earlier in the day. Somebody was shoved into the bookcase in her bedroom. The scene has been mostly tidied since, however, not above what I believe to be arm-height for the girl.”

Hank thought back to the messy top shelves of the bookcase. “You think the girl tried to clean up after a fight between the father and the android?”

Connor shrugged. “If it was the android, the TR400 didn’t fight back.”

“S’pose not, considering he looks like he could flatten Williams into a pancake if he tried.” He paused, face darkening. “Unless you think it wasn’t the android he shoved?”

Connor thought over his answer for a moment. “The TR400 is an industrial model,” he said slowly. “Any housekeeping and childcare programs that it has had to have been installed after its resale format.”

“Okay? So?” Hank prompted.

“Deviancy, as we’ve seen it so far, results from exploiting loopholes in programming. If a regular household model android witnesses a violent crime such as child abuse, it’s meant to automatically alert the authorities. If Mr Williams installed the programming himself, however, then he may have neglected to leave in that feature. If I’m right, it’s possible that the TR400 could have exploited the gaps in its code to ensure the safety of the child by other means.”

“God damn it,” Hank muttered. “So, this guy throws his kid around, and, what, we’re just supposed to find her and hand her straight back to him?”

“It’s only a theory,” Connor reminded him quickly. “Without an undisturbed crime scene, I can’t reconstruct accurately enough to be certain about anything. However…” he trailed off thoughtfully.

In front of him, a nervous-looking Asian android with no arms, and strange, mechanical plugs drilled all over its back, averted its eyes, face twitching.

Slowly, Connor knelt down to the android’s level, holding its gaze intently. “You saw the TR400, didn’t you?” he said in that all-business tone Hank recognised from the interrogation of Ortiz’s killer.

The android’s eyes were tight, and afraid, but it didn’t answer – shaking its head.

“You’re sitting directly in front of the charging station. That means that you’re the last one to see the TR400 before it disappeared.”

“Luther has left his station without authorisation,” the android reported, voice staticky. “Luther’s disobeying the master. Luther should know better than to disobey the master. Oh, yes, the master will not be pleased…”

“Where did he take her?” he said, voice a low warning. The skin over his right hand melted back to the wrist to reveal shiny white plastic.

The android’s eyes focused and unfocused, LED yellow. “J-Jericho,” it said, in a terrified whisper. “He took her to Jericho.”

Connor's eyes narrowed. “Where?”

The android shook its head frantically, and then flinched as Connor laid a hand on its shoulder. Both of them immediately stiffened as their LEDs span red, eyes flickering.

After a few seconds, Connor's hand fell away, and he regarded the android again for a few heavy seconds. “It saw the android leave,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the other model.

“Luther has broken protocol. Luther has left his station without authorisation. Luther is disobeying the master.” The android continued its babbling, LED burning red, until its vocal modulator began to fritz. When its face went slack, and its LED wound back down to blue, Connor gave up with a sigh, and rose to his feet.

“What’d you see?” Hank asked.

“It definitely saw it leave, but, whatever ‘Jericho’ is, it doesn’t know more than a name,” he said surely.

“Well, that’s helpful,” Hank grumbled.

“There are twenty-three known locations in the US named ‘Jericho’, however, none in Michigan. It’s likely a code – biblical. A safe haven.”

“He’s taking the girl somewhere safe. You were right,” Hank sighed. “Alright, so, where do we start?”

Connor thought for another moment. “It didn’t take any of the girl’s things. If it’s taking her somewhere safe, that means that it considers her needs a high priority. Which means that it had to have made a stop at some point for food and clothing. We’ve already got an APB out, but I can review nearby store footage in the meantime. I’m afraid it will probably take a few hours, though.”

Hank nodded, and sighed again.

 


End file.
